The Peaceful Meadows Affair
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Napoleon and Illya go undercover at a gated community to find out why residents are disappearing after committing even the slightest infractions. Illya especially isn't pleased to discover two old enemies have also moved in, for unclear reasons.
1. Your Unfriendly Neighborhood Spies

**The Man From U.N.C.L.E.**

 **The Peaceful Meadows Affair**

 **By Lucky_Ladybug**

 **Notes: The characters are not mine and the story is! This idea came to me a few weeks ago and it amused me. Now I'm finally getting around to starting it. Characters from** _ **The Odd Man Affair**_ **are present, and of course, references to** _ **The Suburbia Affair**_ **will abound.**

 **Chapter One**

Napoleon was tense as he drove through the gate of Peaceful Meadows, a closed housing community. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here," he muttered under his breath. The gate clanged shut behind the car, locking them inside and everyone else outside.

"Really, Napoleon, I do not see anything so terrible about the idea of this place," Illya huffed. "It's for people who wish to have a little order in their lives and a few less disorganized and noisy neighbors."

"I suppose I can see some sense in that," Napoleon said, keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel. "But some of the specific rules and regulations for this place are bizarre. You're not even allowed to have a plastic flamingo in your front yard?"

"Why would you want to?" Illya grunted.

"I'm not saying I personally would, necessarily," Napoleon replied. "I just don't like being told I _can't_." He stared at the yards. "All of these lots look exactly the same. There's no individuality!"

Illya frowned a bit. "I did some research on these types of communities in preparation for our assignment," he said. "Some of them _do_ allow for different types of houses and grounds. I must admit, I wasn't entirely expecting _this._ "

"Aha, so even _you_ don't like the thought of everything being in perfect little patterns, my Russian-born friend." Napoleon stared in dismay as he pulled up in front of what was to be their house. "Just like all the rest," he sighed.

"It won't be pleasant, but we'll have to weather it for at least a while," Illya said, moving to get out of the car. "Mr. Waverly seemed very concerned that something wasn't peaceful in Peaceful Meadows."

Napoleon nodded. "People who have committed the slightest infraction of the rules have been disappearing. Yes, I know; I was listening to our briefing." He stepped out of the car, locking it after him and heading for the porch.

Illya followed alongside. "What I don't understand is, this doesn't exactly seem like a THRUSH plot. Since when would THRUSH care about plastic flamingos?"

"Mmm. They wouldn't care about plastic flamingos specifically, but they _do_ like being in control and forcing everyone else to bend to their will. In that respect, it sounds very much like a THRUSH plot. Perhaps they're planning to develop communities like this all over the world. It may be how they plan to keep people in line after their takeover."

"That's possible," Illya said upon reflection.

"On the other hand, our enemy isn't always THRUSH," Napoleon pointed out. "Perhaps this is something new."

"The Anti-Pink Flamingo Society, perhaps?"

Napoleon glanced over his shoulder at Illya in bemusement. "You really have grasped on to that aspect of this case, haven't you?"

Illya shrugged. "It sounds particularly ridiculous."

"True, but there's a lot more to this than a few banned long-legged birds." Finally locating the right key, Napoleon moved to the front door to unlock it.

"And what about our neighbors?" Illya nodded to the house next-door. "The man in the front office told us that they are also new residents here, two bachelors looking to settle down in a quiet community. An odd coincidence, is it not?"

"He thought so." Napoleon turned the key and pushed the door open. "Mr. Waverly didn't mention anything about them. They might be part of the problem, but then again, they might really be innocently settling down."

"Somehow _I_ do not think so."

Napoleon spun around in surprise, hearing the sudden venom in Illya's voice. His partner was glaring across the way at the window of the other house. Obviously he had seen something. The curtains fluttered, but the occupant was not currently visible inside.

Or at least, he wasn't until he threw up the sash and leaned out, glaring right back. "What are you doing here, Kuryakin?"

Illya walked to the edge of the wooden, railed porch, followed quickly by Napoleon. "I believe I should be asking that question of you, Mr. Ecks," he retorted, his voice clipped. "Or whatever you are calling yourself here."

Mr. Ecks, former enemy agent and current living person, even after Illya's attempt to kill him in Hyde Park during _The Odd Man Affair_ , leaned on the windowsill with one arm and sneered. "Luther will do," he said crisply. "Don't tell me your Mr. Waverly sent the both of you out here just to spy on us."

"No, but only because he did not know," Illya snapped. "Had he been aware, that would have been another reason for our presence."

Hoping to diffuse the understandable tension between the two blonds, Napoleon stepped forward. "I assume that the fellow with you is Mr. Wye, of course."

"Of course." Ecks straightened up. "I hope you'll be quiet neighbors."

"Oh, you never can tell, with us," Napoleon said calmly. "Someone could always send us an exploding bottle of milk or loaf of raisin rye bread. That tends to increase the volume by quite a bit."

"Raisin rye bread?" Ecks looked repulsed. "Well, nevermind. Leave us alone and we'll leave you alone."

"Leave who alone?" echoed a Cockney voice from inside the house. Mr. Wye appeared in the window in the next moment. "Well, ain't that a coincidence. Our friendly neighborhood spies are here. Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin. Welcome to Peaceful Meadows!" He gave a mock bow.

"Thank you," Napoleon said, still calm but staying on guard. "And now might I ask what our _un_ friendly neighborhood spies are doing here?"

"You might ask, but you'll get no answer," Wye quipped. "Not anything other than what the bloke at the front desk probably told you. They always seem to be chin-waggin' about their newest members."

Ecks nodded. "And just like he must have said, we're here to settle into the community. Nothing more than that. No dark secrets here."

"We'll see," Napoleon said.

"Yes," Illya added coolly. "We will. And I, for one, most certainly do not believe your story."

"And why's that, Kuryakin?" Ecks grunted. "You think we can't live normal lives?"

"I don't, but that isn't the point. You are both mavericks. I really don't think either of you would be happy living in a community with so many rules and restrictions." Illya folded his arms.

"Like your chum said, we'll see," Wye retorted. "But speaking of restrictions, I wonder how well the both of you will do livin' under one roof."

"And why wouldn't we do just fine?" Napoleon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We know about the last time you tried to do that," Ecks said with delight.

"That was a long time ago now," Illya snapped. "Anyway, Napoleon and I are both professionals. We will do whatever we have to in order to get the job done."

"Right, then. We'll see you later, old chaps." Wye moved to close the window as Ecks backed out of the way. "Don't be too loud if you have a row. Ecks is a light sleeper, he is. And he'll wake up bearin' a dagger if he's disturbed."

Ecks smirked at Illya through the descending glass.

Illya's eyes burned as he turned away. "That Ecks! He must have researched all of our cases when he was stalking me! And of course he told it all to Wye." He stormed past Napoleon to the front door. "I don't imagine anything is secret to them now!"

"That isn't pleasant, but I'm sure we'll make do," Napoleon replied as he followed. "As you said, we're professionals."

"It isn't hard to understand how _they_ can stand to live under the same roof," Illya grumbled. "They are both insufferable."

"Well, there's one thing you and Mr. Ecks have in common. Besides your profession and the color of your hair and eyes, that is." Napoleon strolled ahead to the kitchen. "Neither of you appreciate the wonder that is raisin rye bread."

"Even a twisted soul like Mr. Ecks couldn't appreciate _that,_ " Illya declared.

Napoleon ignored that, opening the bare cupboards and the refrigerator. "It's almost dinnertime," he said. "What do you say we try out the restaurant in this place?"

Illya looked ruffled. "I was planning on making dinner."

"There'll be plenty of time for that," Napoleon said easily, straightening as he turned away from the cupboards under the sink. "We'd have to go shopping before you could do that anyway."

"You are not just simply stalling because you are still afraid of my cooking?" Illya retorted.

"Not at all," Napoleon half-fibbed. "I'm hungry right now and don't really feel like shopping on top of waiting for dinner to cook. We'll shop tomorrow."

"Very well," Illya said slowly, still suspicious. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Napoleon nodded firmly.

Behind his back, he crossed his fingers.

xxxx

Ecks' smirking, smart aleck demeanor disappeared as Wye shut the window and they both stepped away. Ecks leaned on the wall, folding his arms. "I don't like this," he frowned. "It's going to be a lot harder to get our job done with them moving around."

Wye nodded. "We'll be their number-one suspects in the mess. But they _are_ professionals. I'm sure they'll investigate everybody here."

Ecks pushed away from the wall and started to pace. "Maybe the money wasn't worth this assignment. Kuryakin was right, at least about the rules and restrictions. This place seems like a prison."

"Eh, they're probably not usually as bad as this place is," Wye replied. "A lot of people are very happy livin' in places like this. They say it keeps out the riffraff."

"Yes, but research has shown that people in gated communities really aren't safer than people out of them," Ecks pointed out. "It's all in their minds."

"And the mind is everything, ain't it?" Wye smirked. "People can trick themselves into believing whatever they want to. That's the way it's always been and the way it always will be."

"I suppose," Ecks said uneasily. "But I still don't like it here. I also read that gated community residents can become filled with paranoia and band together in it. They might turn into a lynch mob against us, if the truth gets out."

"Not everything you read is the way things are," Wye said. "Who knows, maybe they'll be grateful to us."

"That's a strange thought," Ecks said wryly.

"Chin up, Duck," Wye encouraged. "We probably won't be here long. We'll watch the other residents for a little while, see if anybody else disappears, and if they don't, well, we'll just have to start defying the rules ourselves to see where everybody goes."

"They're probably dead. We both know that." Ecks went to another window and peered out at the garden. "For all we know, Martin Jensen's body is buried under the petunias."

Wye chuckled. "And you say _I'm_ morbid."

Ecks turned back to face him. "So where do _you_ think they are?"

Wye shrugged. "Who knows. You could be right, Ecks." He sobered. "But we've been in tight spots before and come out alright. We will this time, too." He would see to that. He had almost lost that boy once, when Kuryakin had stabbed him. That had tipped Wye over the edge and had nearly got him killed too. He wasn't going to let any of it happen again.

Ecks took his umbrella and drew his dagger out of it, studying it. He certainly wouldn't go down without a fight. But he still wondered if they were getting in over their heads.

"This is the first big thing we've been into since we got out of the organization," he said. "I don't even know that I've got what it takes anymore. Being gutted by the enemy sort of makes you doubt."

"You stalked Kuryakin for weeks without him finding you," Wye reminded him. "You said _that_ helped you feel like you could still cut it."

"I know, but a stalking mission isn't the same as something like this." Ecks snapped the dagger back into place. "Well, nevermind. What's for dinner?"

"I think this community is big enough that it comes with its own restaurant," Wye said. "Let's try that, shall we? It'll give us a good chance to look over the rest of this sorry crew."

Ecks smirked a bit. Wye hated to cook. So did he. "Alright," he said agreeably. "Let's go."


	2. An Unpeaceful Collision

**Chapter Two**

Illya looked derisively at The Restaurant of Peace. "They're really trying to drill it into everyone that this is a peaceful community."

Napoleon was amused as he pulled into a parking space near the door. "And suddenly that doesn't seem like such an attractive picture?"

"It's more that it seems that anyone who has to keep emphasizing it again and again is either ridiculously naïve or must have an ulterior motive in mind," Illya replied. "Perhaps they know it is not truly peaceful, but they wish to make the residents believe it."

Napoleon nodded. "I think that seems like a logical possibility." He got out of the car, heading for the door. As he hauled open the door, Illya trailing after him, a cheerful and perky waitress with a blonde bob smiled at them.

"Hello! Welcome to The Restaurant of Peace. I'm Denise. May I get you a table?"

"Yes, thank you," Napoleon replied, inwardly amused as he caught sight of Illya's less-than-impressed reflection in a napkin holder. "Something near a window, if there's anything available."

"There is," she chirped. "Right this way." She came out from around the counter and led them to a booth near the window.

Illya settled in, picking up the menu that was already on the table. Napoleon slid in on the other side, examining another. Soon they had placed their orders and Denise was hurrying off to take said orders to the kitchen.

"Denise seems to believe that this truly is a community of peace," Napoleon mused.

"Yes, she appears to be quite satisfied," Illya frowned. "I wonder if she hasn't heard about the disappearances."

"Or worse, perhaps she has and she feels they're in the best interest of Peaceful Meadows," Napoleon said. "Some of the residents likely do."

"I wonder what _they_ think."

Napoleon looked up with a start. The venom was back in Illya's voice and Ecks and Wye were entering the restaurant. Another waitress, a brunette who wasn't quite as perky, guided them to a table right next to Napoleon and Illya's.

"Is there anything else available?" Ecks frowned, immediately catching sight of the U.N.C.L.E. agents and not being pleased.

"Most of the tables are reserved for our regular guests," their waitress replied. "This is the only other one that isn't."

"Well, nevermind," Wye quickly interjected. "This is fine; we'll take it."

When she was gone, Ecks half-buried himself in the menu. "I wonder if _I_ would have disappeared if I had continued to contest sitting here," he grumbled.

"That's something we don't need to find out right now," Wye answered. "I'm sure some other poor sap will screw up soon."

"Maybe even them." Ecks nodded to Napoleon and Illya.

"Oh, we'll do our best to hold to the rules. For now," Napoleon added. "Perhaps in the future we'll have to deliberately shake things up a bit and see what happens."

"It shakes things up quite enough to have the two of you here," Illya grunted, shooting a death glare at the former enemy agents.

"As I told you, we can play nice, if you will," Ecks said.

"Very well." Illya shook out his napkin stonily. "We will pretend that you are not here."

Napoleon raised an eyebrow but nodded. He would go along. "At least, we had better pretend that we don't know each other," he cautioned. "It could create suspicion if they realize we've met before."

"Excellent point, Mr. Solo," Wye said. "Especially since this place is supposed to get filled up with people."

It wasn't long before that was exactly the case and the entire dinner crowd streamed in, taking up every available table. Illya, not pleased, slid closer to the window.

Napoleon regarded him in amusement. "We really need to socialize, Illya," he prompted. "Otherwise it's going to look like we're the aloof and unfriendly new neighbors, and that wouldn't go over well, either."

"Mr. Wye is certainly throwing himself into the task of socialization," Illya grunted, watching as Wye greeted each person to pass their table. Each one reciprocated, most seeming delighted to have new residents present.

"Well, that isn't surprising, considering how he was very outgoing in London and gave nonsensical speeches to conceal information to his organization's members," Napoleon said.

"How do you do, Sir?" Wye exclaimed to one man. "My name is Allan and this is my chum Luther."

Ecks nodded and touched the brim of his hat. "Hello."

The man seemed pleased with Wye's introduction. "Welcome to Peaceful Meadows, both of you!" he declared. "I'm Harley. I know you're going to love it here!"

"Oh, we already do," Wye assured him. "Lovely place you've got here. Very striking. I'm impressed with everything you're doing to keep out the criminal element."

Harley puffed up with pride. "I'm on the Homeowners' Council," he said. "We do our best to make sure Peaceful Meadows remains peaceful for everyone seeking a pleasant and orderly place to live."

"Hmm," Napoleon mused. "Perhaps Harley is someone to keep an eye on."

Illya nodded. "Didn't we receive a brochure with the names of everyone on this Council?"

"As well as a detailed list of all the rules and regulations," Napoleon said. "I suppose we had better study it when we get home." Then, seeing the people looking their way, he decided that Wye had a good idea going. He leaped up and greeted the crowd.

"Why, hello, all you wonderful people of Peaceful Meadows! My friend Illya and I, Napoleon, are honored to be in your jolly presence. We knew as soon as we heard about Peaceful Meadows that it was the place for us, and your warm welcomes have proved us right! We're looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you. Thank you, thank you." Grandly bowing to the onset of applause, Napoleon sat down again.

"Isn't it interesting," Illya muttered, "that none of those wonderful, warm people actually gave us a welcome, aside from Denise the waitress."

"Well, sometimes you have to be the one to make the first move," Napoleon replied. "Let's see what happens now."

At first, nothing much happened, and Napoleon and Illya ate in peace, with Ecks and Wye staying true to their word and pretending not to know them. Then, gradually, as the other diners finished eating, they came over to say Hello.

"It's really refreshing how many people are starting to come around to our way of thinking," one cheery woman with bleach-blonde cropped hair gushed. "Gated communities have such an unfair stigma about them."

"Yes," Napoleon pounced. "It truly is a pity. Just because we want to live where our neighbors are neat and tidy and where criminals won't get in so easily, we're branded paranoid hermits."

"And worse," Illya added.

"And you are . . . ?" Napoleon smiled at the woman.

"Oh! Marietta Crabtree." Far from seeming suspicious, Marietta looked from their booth to the next and proclaimed, "How exciting to have four new residents all in the same week! And you're direct neighbors too, aren't you?"

"We seem to be," Napoleon answered.

Wye glanced up, pretending to just be tuning in now—even though he had surely heard everything. "Eh? Neighbors?" He snapped to, feigning cheerfulness. "Why, yes, we are at that. Saw each other leaving for this fine establishment, we did."

"We should all end up getting along just fine," Ecks added.

"I'm sure you will. And as a member of the Homeowners' Council, I'd like to invite you to the next open session of our community meeting," Marietta beamed.

"Fine," Napoleon said with an easy smile. "And when will that be?"

"Tonight at 8," Marietta proclaimed. "We meet at the school. And of course, everything will be over promptly at 9. Can't be late for our curfew!"

"Excuse me, curfew?" Illya repeated. "I don't remember reading on the gate about a curfew."

"Curfew is at 10," Marietta said. "It's so that people won't be disturbed by cars coming in and going out at unreasonable hours."

"We haven't had time to read our brochure yet," Napoleon said, "but that seems reasonable."

"I know you'll be assets to Peaceful Meadows," Marietta smiled. "I'll see you all at 8!" With that she scurried off.

"Hmm." Illya folded his arms. "I was under the impression that gated communities made sure all prospective applicants knew the rules _before_ they joined."

"I was under the same impression. And yet this one signed us right up without briefing us on much of anything and gave us the brochure almost as an afterthought," Napoleon mused. "We only managed to hear about some of the rules beforehand, such as the flamingo one. I believe that's almost universal among gated communities."

Ecks turned to look over at them. "If you want to know the rules before you get home, we can brief you on some of them," he smirked.

"Thank you, but what guarantee would we have that you would tell us the right ones?" Illya retorted. "You might tell us exactly the opposite of whatever they are in order to make _us_ disappear."

"Interesting thought," Wye said, "but being the professionals you are, I'm sure you could spot a phony rule."

"The question I'd like to know is, why _weren't_ we briefed on the rules?" Napoleon said. "Could it be that they're hoping a lot of people won't read the brochure and immediately make some silly mistake?"

"So they're setting out to make people disappear in the first place?" Illya frowned. "What on earth for?"

"It would be interesting to find out," Napoleon said, trying not to say too much. Even though Ecks and Wye probably suspected what Napoleon and Illya were doing there, Napoleon didn't want to come right out and admit it for certain.

Almost on though on cue, one of their communicator pens went off. Realizing it was his, Illya slid out of the booth, trying to hold his hand over the pen to muffle the noise. "Excuse me a moment," he said, half to Napoleon, half to the staring crowd. He escaped into the restroom, praying it was empty.

"Kuryakin here," he said as he uncapped the pen.

"Mr. Kuryakin, are you and Mr. Solo settled in at Peaceful Meadows?" came Mr. Waverly's voice.

"Yes, Sir," Illya said, trying to relax. "We've just been invited to a community meeting at 8 o'clock tonight."

"Excellent! Does anything seem out of the ordinary yet?"

"Quite a few things, not the least of which is the fact that Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye are also staying here." Illya glanced again at the stalls and then at the door, willing everyone to stay out until he left.

"Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye?" Illya wasn't sure if Mr. Waverly was surprised or exasperated or both. "Mr. Kuryakin, haven't you figured out what those two are up to yet in general?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir," Illya admitted. "They're very good at covering their tracks. And we never seem to be in New York long enough to piece things together between cases."

"Well, see that you uncover what their role is in this mess," Mr. Waverly instructed. "Do you think they might be involved in the disappearances?"

"It's possible, but I get the impression they've moved in the same as we have," Illya said. "Whether they're also investigating is another matter."

"And if so, who hired them," Mr. Waverly frowned. "Alright, Mr. Kuryakin. Stay alert at that meeting."

"Yes, Sir. Goodbye." Quickly Illya capped the pen and headed back out of the room. To his relief, no one seemed to be looking his way.

He was so intent on taking note of that, that when someone else crashed into him and they spilled to the floor, it was a complete shock. "Oof!" Illya gasped. He had landed on the bottom.

"Kuryakin!" Ecks all but wailed in frustration. With arms and legs and trenchcoat wrapped up with Illya's limbs, he wasn't in a much better position.

Illya tried to pull an arm free and push his enemy back. "You should watch where you're going!" he scolded. "This is exactly how I was able to stab you in London—you weren't alert enough!"

"If _this_ had happened in London, I probably would have accidentally gutted _you!_ " Ecks retorted.

"Alright, children, alright. Time to go." Illya recognized Napoleon's much-too-calm voice as he hurried over and began to disentangle Ecks and pull him back.

Wye assisted. "He's right, you know," he said to Illya, at last dragging Ecks away and to his feet. "That wasn't your best piece of spy work."

Illya glowered up at them. "Let's say neither of us were at our best and leave it at that," he snapped. "I am not going to accept full blame for this."

Something akin to embarrassment flashed through Ecks' eyes. "Alright, Kuryakin. I'm sorry." He abruptly turned. "We're getting out of here. We'll be at the meeting at 8."

"And no more pratfalls," Wye scolded, pointing at Illya, who fumed.

Napoleon watched them leave before turning to help Illya up. "Mind telling me how that happened?" he asked.

Illya had already pushed himself mostly to his feet. "I wasn't paying attention to Mr. Ecks because I was so focused on making sure I wasn't being seen by the rest of the customers," he said in annoyance. "Apparently Mr. Ecks wasn't paying attention to me for reasons unknown. And thus we made contact." He felt to make sure his communicator pen was intact. "You know I rarely get angry, Napoleon. But those two have been managing to make me come dangerously close to that point ever since Ecks started stalking me in New York."

"I know." Napoleon glanced to the other diners. "Well, they've certainly noticed you now. Hopefully they'll just accept that little spill as an accident and move on."

Illya sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Hopefully I will as well."

Napoleon peered at him. "You don't think he ran into you on purpose?"

"No, not really, not when nothing seems to be missing. Then again, maybe he meant to take something and he botched it." Illya headed back to their table. "Nevermind. Let's finish dinner. We should have just enough time to look over that brochure before we need to be at that meeting."

Amused that Illya was going right back to thinking of food, Napoleon followed.


	3. Interlude in a Garbage Can

**Chapter Three**

Once they were out of the restaurant, Wye turned to Ecks with a frown. "Alright, I didn't want to berate you in there in front of them, but what in the ruddy world were you doing?!" he exclaimed. "How did you crash into Kuryakin?"

Ecks scowled. "I was looking all over for him, but I didn't see him. And then suddenly he was right in front of me." He shoved his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. "That really was idiotic, on both our parts."

"Well, at least it wasn't entirely your fault, but I don't want to see that happening again," Wye said. "You know better than that, Ecks! Even when you were stalking Kuryakin, you did better than you did today. You really kept him in sight."

"I know, I know," Ecks growled with a nod. "Maybe I'm so nervous about fouling up that I'm causing it to happen."

"You don't need to be nervous," Wye retorted. "You were always one of the best. You still are."

"You haven't even seen me in action for ages until this," Ecks objected. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because a good spy don't lose what makes him good," Wye insisted. "You just need a little remindin', maybe. Anyway, I know I haven't lost it as a teacher, either, and since I trained you properly, there's no way you'll fail in the end."

Ecks had to smile a bit. Wye had always believed in him. Of course, he might try to cover it up by seemingly making it about himself, but Ecks knew what he really meant. And Wye knew that he knew.

"Well, one thing I can tell you right now is that Solo's watching us," he growled. "And even though Kuryakin seems to be completely involved in eating, I'll bet anything that he is as well."

"Naturally he is. He's not gonna let us out of his sight again, if he can help it," Wye hmphed.

Suddenly thinking of something, Ecks started running his hands over his coat and pulling it open to check for tracking devices. Finding nothing, he also examined the band of his hat. "Aha!" He slid out what seemed to be an ordinary straight pin. "I didn't put this here."

"So Kuryakin had enough presence of mind to slip that to you, eh?" Wye studied it for a moment. "Is that all that's there?"

"No." Ecks also removed a small, round disc. "He's heard everything we've said since we walked outside." Momentarily placing the disc in his pocket, he strolled over to the window where the U.N.C.L.E. agents were eating. Lightly tapping on the glass, he waited until Illya looked up. Then, with a smirk, he bent the pin and set it on the windowsill.

"And what are you goin' to do with the bug?" Wye asked.

"I'd like to throw it on the ground and step on it, but if we were seen, I'm guessing we'd suffer a harsh penalty for littering," Ecks replied. Shooting another sneer at Illya, he turned away and walked back to Wye. "I have another idea instead." Whistling casually, he took the listening device out of his pocket and plunked it into a garbage can near them. Through the window, Napoleon visibly winced.

Wye cackled. "Oh, you are a sly devil."

Ecks grinned. "I know." When they were definitely out of hearing range, he added in a lower tone, "And I didn't make a complete waste out of the crash, either. I left one of _our_ devices on Kuryakin."

Wye smirked. "Of course, he'd probably think of that and check himself over to make sure."

"Most likely. But he might not find it for a while. It looks just like a real button." Ecks smirked wickedly.

"Well, if he don't find it right away, it'll be interesting to hear where we fall on their list of suspects," Wye said.

"And it will also be interesting to attend that meeting tonight," Ecks said. "Maybe we'll hear something worthwhile."

Wye nodded. "If nothing else, it might be a good opening for us to sort of ask some of the other residents about the disappearing people, casual-like. Since we've been here, there hasn't been one mention of any of them."

Ecks' expression darkened. "Either they've all been threatened into silence where the missing are concerned or they just don't care."

"And I'm betting on the latter," Wye said. "The people here seem too happy. You'd think they'd be at least a little worried, after the number of residents what vanished without a trace. For all they'd know, they could be next!"

"Unless they're that confident that they won't be breaking any of the rules," Ecks mused.

"I don't imagine that any of them would think they'd break any, including the ones who did. I'm sort of wondering if the Council just slips new ones in whenever they feel like it and then picks on someone to bust for not keeping them."

"And I thought _I_ was paranoid about this place." Ecks looked concerned. "Unfortunately, that idea sounds plausible."

"I know. Well, I'm sure we'll learn _something_ at the meeting." Wye checked his watch. "We've got some time to kill. Let's explore the rest of the business district and get a good feel for the layout of the place."

Ecks nodded in approval. "That sounds good to me."

xxxx

Inside the restaurant, Napoleon was still cringing at what Ecks had done. "The next time you get the idea to place a bug on another spy, Illya, _don't._ " He stared at the garbage can like a hawk. "Mr. Waverly is not going to be pleased about this at all."

"He told me to try to find out what they were up to," Illya said in annoyance. "It might still be in working condition."

"That's what I'm afraid of. It can't be left in there. So . . ." Napoleon folded his arms on the table. "Which one of us is going to go out there and retrieve it?"

"Whom do you suggest?" Illya grunted, finding looking at his food very interesting.

"Well, it wasn't my idea," Napoleon remarked.

"Not to mention, I am not the one wearing the most expensive clothing," Illya added.

Napoleon shrugged. "Those were your words, not mine."

Illya let out an exaggerated sigh. "Very well. I will get it back. But it will have to be done very naturally. Especially since some of these people might have seen him throw it in."

"Would you mind telling me how it's possible to make reaching into a garbage can look natural?" Napoleon retorted.

"You will know when I do it," Illya answered. "Let us pray it didn't fall to the bottom."

"Oh, I'm praying," Napoleon said.

"But not as hard as you would if you were the one about to look for it," Illya supplied.

"Again, your words," said Napoleon. "I have to say, I don't think Mr. Ecks has too much to worry about when it comes to whether or not he's still got what it takes to be a spy."

Illya scowled. "But we have something to worry about as long as we don't know for whom he and Mr. Wye are working." Finishing his food, he stood and stepped out of the booth.

"Which we're not any closer to figuring out," Napoleon said as he followed.

"Judging from what they said when they first got settled in the restaurant, we know they seem to be interested in the disappearing people," Illya said. "The question is, why? Who would be interested in that information aside from U.N.C.L.E.?"

"I suppose that depends on who's behind it and why," Napoleon answered. As they passed the other customers, who were watching them closely, he gave a big smile and a wave. "We'll see you tonight, fine residents of Peaceful Meadows!"

Illya went on ahead. Outside, he purchased a newspaper from a stand. He stood, appearing to read it for a moment. When Napoleon came out, Illya said in a low tone, "Take the newspaper from me, read it briefly, and throw it away."

Nodding, Napoleon did as instructed. "Bah, nothing very interesting happening in the world today," he grunted, depositing the newspaper in the trashcan.

"What are you doing?" Illya exclaimed indignantly. "I wasn't done with that yet!"

"Oh, you weren't?" Napoleon pretended to look dismayed. "I'm sorry. I thought you were giving it to me because you were done."

"I did not give it to you. You absconded with it, my friend!" Illya grumped, storming over to the garbage can. He reached inside, grabbing for the newspaper. At the same time, he spotted the disc not too far down and snatched it up too.

"You're going to keep that?" Napoleon grimaced. "It really isn't sanitary now."

"Then you will buy me another," Illya retorted, pocketing the disc but allowing the paper to fall back into the can. Having discovered a button he didn't remember as being part of the outfit, he tossed that in too.

Frowning, Napoleon nevertheless did as requested. "Here you are," he said grandly, holding the new newspaper out.

"Thank you," Illya retorted haughtily.

Both waited to speak again until they reached the car. "Well," Napoleon said as they drove away, "that was quite clever thinking. Only why did you make _me_ buy another? Planting the bug was your mistake in the first place."

"You opened the door, Napoleon, when you brought up the condition of the newspaper," Illya replied. "Anyway, it occurred to me that perhaps we _should_ read it more thoroughly, since it's a paper solely serving this gated community."

"I agree," Napoleon nodded. "I hope we won't get in trouble for throwing one away. For all we know, maybe they're considered too important to be tossed."

"It would be a fire hazard to keep them all," Illya retorted, "and I can't imagine they would subscribe to that type of disorder."

"I suppose you're right," Napoleon consented.

"By the way," Illya scowled, "you're right—Mr. Ecks really doesn't have to worry about his qualifications as a spy. He managed to plant a bug on _me._ " Glowering at the town streets, he added, "He must have been laughing himself silly hearing what we were doing to retrieve our bug."

Napoleon had to admit he was amused. "Perhaps we _both_ need to reevaluate our priorities on this case," he said. "One of us should have thought to check for a bug."

Illya looked ruffled. "I did check, but I still didn't find it. It strongly resembled a button."

"Well, that's creative," Napoleon said. "Perhaps we should suggest that design to Mr. Waverly."

"At least," Illya grumbled, "we had better not underestimate either Mr. Ecks or Mr. Wye again."

xxxx

The meeting of the Homeowners' Council was ready to begin promptly at 8. Napoleon and Illya, and Ecks and Wye, all made certain to be present ahead of time. Illya made eye contact with Ecks and gave him a very stony look. Ecks just sneered at him in reply.

"Alright, everyone!" Harvey called, walking to the podium just as the clock turned 8. "You all know why we're here; no explanations are necessary. But may I welcome our newest neighbors, who are sitting in tonight: Napoleon and Illya, and Allan and Luther!" Everyone clapped. "So, let's get right down to business. Does anyone have any announcements of current events?"

"I do," said Marietta, as she got to her feet. "The community social will take place here at the school on Thursday night at 7. It's potluck, so everyone bring something to contribute to a delicious dinner!"

"Excellent," Harvey said. "Anyone else?"

"Parent-Teacher Conference is next Monday," said an older, gruff man that Napoleon and Illya didn't recognize. "Also at 7."

"Good, good," Harvey nodded.

Several innocuous announcements later, Harvey sobered and the tone of the meeting abruptly changed. "Alright," he said. "Now is the time when, well, we must do what has to be done for the good of Peaceful Meadows, as much as it pains us." Illya tensed. "Does anyone have any infractions to report?"

Silence stretched for a brief moment before a young woman hesitantly stood. "Um, I saw some paint peeling from the siding of Everett Barkley's house," she said, clearly not wanting to tell on him but for some reason feeling compelled to do so anyway.

Harvey's brow furrowed. "I see. This is a grave matter. We'll have to speak with Everett about that tonight."

Another silence. Finally Marietta stood, wringing her hands. "You know I don't want to get anyone in trouble, Harvey," she said, conflicted.

"Yes, I know, but anyone who isn't respecting Peaceful Meadows or its residents must be made to see that such behavior won't be tolerated here," Harvey said soothingly. "What have you seen, Marietta?"

"Well . . ." She took a deep breath. "When I went to visit Clarice Peters yesterday, one of her porch steps squeaked."

"Is this for real?" Illya hissed in disbelief.

"And to think you were the one who thought gated communities sounded like a good idea," Napoleon shot back.

"Normal gated communities that ask only for reasonable order," Illya returned. "This is nonsense!"

Harvey was making a notation on the blackboard. "So there are two friends who have unfortunately fallen along the wayside," he said grimly. "I hope there aren't others following suit."

This time the silence persisted. Taking that to mean No, Harvey returned to the podium. "We will see to it that these matters are taken care of tonight," he said. "Thank you all, and this ends tonight's Homeowners' Council."

Napoleon leaned over to whisper to Illya. "Interesting, that Everett Barkley and Clarice Peters don't seem to have been invited. I wonder if the Council already knew about the . . . infractions and they're just putting on a show for us."

Illya frowned, folding his arms. "It's possible."

Marietta weaved her way around the empty seats and over to the U.N.C.L.E. agents. "I hope you don't think we're unreasonable," she said worriedly. "We only want order. Normally you wouldn't be at this meeting, but Harvey likes to invite all the newcomers to at least one so they can get a better idea of how things are run here."

"I see," Napoleon said slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ecks and Wye coming over to hear the conversation. "And what happens to all the people who have . . . 'fallen along the wayside'?"

"They're asked to move on. That's all," Marietta insisted.

"They're not even given a second chance?" Illya frowned.

Marietta looked trapped. "They've read the rules," she said at last, lamely. "It's their responsibility to obey."

"You wouldn't happen to know why none of the people who have disappeared have been heard from again on the outside, do you?" Wye spoke up, gripping the back of a chair.

Marietta jumped a mile and looked over at him. "Why, no," she said in what seemed to be honest shock.

"Do you happen to know what sort of infraction Martin Jensen committed?" Ecks added. "We moved into his old house and couldn't help wondering where he had gone."

Fear came into Marietta's eyes. "I can't talk about that. No one talks about any of the residents who have been asked to leave. Excuse me." With that she fled to the front of the room, helping several others set up chairs before departing altogether.

"Well," said Napoleon, folding his arms, "that was interesting."

"Who is Martin Jensen?" Illya demanded, looking to Ecks and Wye.

"Oh, well, you heard what the lady said, old chap," Wye answered smoothly. "No one talks about people like him." With a tip of his hat, he climbed off the chair and headed for the door. "See you around."

"Don't forget about the curfew," Ecks added before following his friend.

Napoleon and Illya stared after them. "Curiouser and curiouser," Napoleon mused.

Illya scowled. "That is not the term I had in mind."


	4. The Price of Peace and Order

**Chapter Four**

By mutual consent, Napoleon and Illya decided to follow Ecks and Wye upon leaving the school, feeling that those two were certainly among the keys to what was happening in addition to just plain wanting to know what they were up to. That adventure seemed to go better than the tracking fiasco, as they managed to tail the former enemy agents all the way to a residential street without being cornered.

"Alright," Wye said to Ecks in a low tone as they arrived at a house, "to keep watch on both these places, we'll have to split up. Let me know if anything happens here."

Ecks nodded. "You do likewise. And we'll both have to be careful that we're not caught being out after curfew. Who knows what the punishment for that would be, not to mention trespassing and spying."

"Oh, we'd disappear for certain then," Wye said. "And I don't think either of us is ready for that."

"I don't think our shadows are, either," Ecks commented, and Napoleon and Illya froze.

"How long have you known?" Illya asked at last, grudgingly.

"Almost since the beginning, old chap," Wye replied. "But since we were fairly sure you weren't lookin' to get caught, either, we decided that we'd let you tag along. Now, I suppose, you'll want to split up as well."

"I will stay here, with Mr. Ecks," Illya said flatly.

"And I guess that means I've got you for company," Wye said, looking to Napoleon. "Come on, then. Let's see what happens at poor Clarice Peters' residence."

Napoleon was agreeable. "You _will_ keep in touch," he said to Illya, who nodded.

"Of course. Now go!" His eyes narrowing, Illya added, "Whatever is going to happen has to happen quickly, if they are so worried about curfew. They won't want to stay out past it themselves."

"Excellent point," Napoleon praised, pleased that hopefully their semi-truce wouldn't last for long. Although he didn't have Illya's fire where these two were concerned, he wasn't particularly crazy about them, either.

As Napoleon and Wye went on ahead, vanishing around a corner, Illya followed Ecks into the hedge that was standard for every yard. "If we are going to be watching this house together, I think I have a right to know why you and your companion are so interested," Illya growled.

"A _right?_ " Ecks mocked. "You and Solo just followed us out here, and as far as I'm concerned, it's business as usual. You don't have any right to know why we do anything." He settled calmly behind the hedge and parted the twigs just enough to have a good view of the front porch.

"We do if it involves national, or _inter_ national, security," Illya snapped, finding it a bit more difficult to get comfortable. "You and Mr. Wye were spies for an extremist organization. That gives us the right to be worried."

"Do you think any extremist organization would find a community like _this_ of interest at all?" Ecks said boredly.

"No," Illya retorted, "but you could be working for someone just as concerning."

"Or we could be passing the time of day. Be quiet; a car is coming." Ecks went stone still as said car pulled up in the driveway, its headlights shining on the garage door.

Illya fell silent, watching as Harvey and several other people alighted and went to the porch. "Everett?" Harvey called as he knocked. "We need to have a word with you."

After a moment, the door opened. "What do you want?" Everett frowned. "It's late."

"How interesting that you're so observant of that when other things fail to grasp your attention," Harvey answered. "We need to come inside for a private conference with you."

Not pleased at all, Everett nevertheless opened the door wider and allowed the group to enter. He then shut the door after them.

"Now this is a time when I would find one of your button bugs helpful," Illya said.

"We'll just have to wait and see what happens," Ecks replied. "No doubt they'll come out dragging Everett with them. Maybe he'll be kicking and screaming or maybe he'll have been silenced."

"You think the missing people are being murdered for loose paint and squeaky steps?" Illya frowned.

"Don't tell me it hasn't even crossed your mind," Ecks shot back. "But he might only be tranquilized for easy travel. In any case, I'm sure they won't want him to do anything that could alert other neighbors. Obviously they try to handle every one of these matters in secret so that the residents don't know what's actually happening, even after they do attend one of the meetings."

"I suppose that is true," Illya grudgingly admitted.

But to both their bewilderment, no one came out for the better part of an hour. And when they did, Everett Barkley was not with them. Saying nothing among themselves, they silently stole back into their car and drove off into the night.

Immediately Illya hurried out from behind the hedge and up to the window, peering inside at the kitchen. It was dark, as was the living room. Everett was nowhere to be seen in either room, from this location.

"Impossible!" Illya cried. "We have to get in there and search."

Ecks frowned, but lithely stepped out and walked up to the porch. "Do you really think we'll find anything? They wouldn't leave the body around for anyone to see."

"No, but there has to be _some_ clue," Illya insisted. Trying the sash, he found it unlocked and pushed up the window.

Ecks tried the door. It was locked, so he resigned himself to entering through another window, which was also unlocked.

"I wonder if Napoleon is having any better luck," Illya muttered as he slipped inside and closed the window after him.

"You could always call him and find out," Ecks answered. "You were supposed to keep him informed anyway, as I recall."

"What about you and Mr. Wye?" Illya demanded.

A shrug. "If you and Solo are keeping in touch, that alerts us to what's going on too. Why use up battery power unnecessarily?"

Illya scowled. "I suppose that makes sense. Just as long as Mr. Wye is still with Napoleon."

"He should be." Ecks' voice suddenly darkened. "If anything happens to him on Solo's watch, I will probably blame Solo for it."

"That doesn't surprise me," Illya retorted. Leaving the empty kitchen, he followed Ecks through the living room and down the hallway.

"Don't tell me you wouldn't feel exactly the same way if Solo was harmed instead," Ecks prompted.

"I probably would," Illya said in resignation. "Even if it wouldn't be entirely logical. It's not as though I could expect enemy agents to be trustworthy in looking after U.N.C.L.E. agents."

"Like I can expect U.N.C.L.E. agents to be?" Ecks smoothly quipped.

"U.N.C.L.E. agents are, after all, more honorable," Illya said haughtily.

"Because you're out to save the world and not for power or personal gain?" Ecks sneered. "Don't tell me you're one of those idiot idealists who thinks that everyone in your organization is above reproach."

"No, I am not," Illya snapped. "But I would still trust the worst U.N.C.L.E. agent before I would ever trust you. You betrayed your own organization, and not to join a better cause, but only for your own personal gain through Mr. Zed's plan."

"I owed them nothing." Ecks' voice had turned cold.

"You gave them your allegiance. You owed them that," Illya retorted.

"I never gave them anything willingly," Ecks snapped. "Don't talk about matters you really know nothing of, Kuryakin."

Illya frowned, but did not pursue the conversation further. Instead he just focused on taking in the décor. From what he could tell, everything was furnished exactly the same as in his and Napoleon's house, not only in the necessary items, but also in the pictures on the walls. He recognized one that hung in his bedroom, of a mysterious stranger encountering a woman on a winter's night and beaconing her to follow him.

Ecks recognized it too. "Not very creative, are they," he grunted.

"By this point, I really wouldn't expect them to be," Illya sniffed. "Except on the matter of how they are removing the people they have problems with." He took out his communicator pen. "I am going to try contacting Napoleon."

xxxx

Napoleon, in the meantime, had been having a very similar experience with Mr. Wye. Together they had watched a group of Council members arrive at Clarice's house and be let inside, and they had found that Clarice did not emerge from the house when the Council members did. They drove off, leaving the house standing in eerie silence.

More disturbed than he wanted to let on, Napoleon went with Wye to the building and quietly entered through the unlocked side door. Inside, the house was every bit as cold and uninviting as outside.

"Well," Napoleon mused, "isn't this a dark and dreary place."

"No place like home, indeed," Wye grumped.

They poked through the rooms, not finding much in the way of individuality beyond some knick-knacks here and there. Napoleon had to admit, he was almost surprised that those were allowed.

"It's like she vanished into thin air or somethin'," Wye frowned.

"I hate to think it, but I wonder if THRUSH or whoever might be behind this could have invented something that could basically bring about the same effect," Napoleon said slowly.

"Vaporization? Now you _are_ bein' gruesome," Wye said. "But I suspect we shouldn't ignore the possibility."

Napoleon noticed he was gripping his gun a little tighter. ". . . You seem easier to get along with than your partner," he noted. "After what happened in London, I wouldn't have expected that."

Wye shrugged. "It wasn't your fault, what _your_ partner did. Anyway, it's all part of the spy trade, spies offing each other. That said, your Mr. Kuryakin ain't one of my favorite people. I don't take kindly to what he did, even if it is just par for the course. You already had Ecks caught; Kuryakin didn't have to try to kill him."

"Begging your pardon, but if the situation had been reversed, wouldn't Mr. Ecks have done the same thing?" Napoleon replied. Even though he also felt Illya had been unnecessarily brutal during that incident, he was certainly going to examine the issue from all angles and not side against his partner along with the enemy.

"Well, now, you'll have to ask him that," Wye returned.

Napoleon gave a respectful nod. "Perhaps I shall."

"And don't think either of us will fully cooperate with you. We've got different reasons for trying to find out what's happening here, and there's no reason why we should tell you what ours are."

"I suppose not," Napoleon said. "But in all fairness, I should tell you that it was Illya who hesitated to even mention to Mr. Waverly that you and Mr. Ecks both survived London. He wanted to give you both a fair chance first, to see what you were up to and if you were still a threat to world security. He hoped that since you had to drop out of sight to stay alive, and likely couldn't get another spy organization to hire you, that perhaps you'd choose a different, less destructive path."

"Interesting that he'd be willing to wait and see like that," Wye said, opening the linen closet and glancing over the contents before closing the door again and moving on.

"Under the circumstances, he felt that you deserved that much," Napoleon said. "And we're still not at all sure what you're up to."

"Well, you're welcome to try to guess," Wye said. "I'll tell you this much—you're right that we're not working for a spy organization any more."

Napoleon nodded. "That's good to know." He peered into the bathroom and then moved to the bedroom.

Wye scowled as he took in the layout. "That same picture of the winter scene is hangin' in Ecks' room," he announced.

"And in Illya's," Napoleon added. He stepped closer for a better look at it. "I wonder why the Council wanted to furnish every home with a copy of this print. It's quite a striking scene, even fanciful and imaginative—the opposite of what Peaceful Meadows seems to be."

Wye went to the closet. "Do they need a reason? Seems to me that they just do anything illogical they can think of." He poked through Clarice's clothes, pushing them aside with the barrel of his gun.

"I suppose that's a good description." Napoleon reached for his communicator pen. "I'm going to contact Illya about this."

Just as he was taking it out, it suddenly went off. Quickly he uncapped it.

Wye vaguely listened as Napoleon conversed with Illya about the bizarre and similar experiences they had been having.

"We've gone through every room in this house without finding anything," Illya said in annoyance. "And I've had just about enough of working with Mr. Ecks."

"I'm sure he feels likewise," Napoleon intoned. "Well, we've just about wrapped up as well. We should be meeting you soon."

"Good," Illya declared.

Napoleon closed the pen and replaced it in his coat pocket. "So tell me about your Mr. Ecks," he said, assuming that Wye had heard the conversation and didn't need to be informed of its details.

"You're a little leery of leaving him with Kuryakin, eh?" Wye smirked as he turned back.

"I think that's understandable, considering London," Napoleon said. "And considering that Mr. Ecks stalked Illya for weeks in New York."

"Ecks won't do nothin' to him," Wye said. "Except be as belligerent as he's probably already being. He's a professional, just like Kuryakin is. He won't go hurtin' a bloke for no reason, even if he doesn't like him."

"You care about him a great deal," Napoleon observed.

"You care about Kuryakin, even though you two can't seem to abide livin' under the same roof," Wye returned. "You work with someone for a long time, naturally you get to feelin' pretty close to them."

Napoleon nodded. "On that, we agree."

"Ecks is . . . like a kid brother," Wye mused. "Mischievous, smart aleck . . ."

"He had a good teacher," Napoleon pointed out.

Wye smirked. "He did at that. And then he can turn around and be cold and deadly and serious."

"Yes," Napoleon said, thinking of Illya. "People are an interesting series of contrasts."

He took a final glance at the picture as they left. Why _was_ it in every house? Was it just a further example of the Council's desire for everything to be the same, or was there some deeper meaning behind it? Perhaps when he and Illya got home, they should look over their own copy more closely.

"Fanciful and imaginative indeed," Wye grunted, sounding sarcastic. If he agreed, he wasn't about to admit it.

"You are a cynical sort, aren't you," Napoleon commented.

"Sometimes," Wye said. "Other times, I just laugh at the stupidity of humankind."

"Humankind has certainly done a lot to warrant that opinion, granted. But they've done a number of impressive and moving things as well."

"But this place ain't one of them," Wye said. "Both the people running it and the people populating it are being pretty stupid."

Napoleon headed for the side door from where they had entered. "We're currently among those populating it," he pointed out.

"Which could definitely be seen as stupid by those lookin' in on the outside," Wye said. "Of course, we know that we're not here because we want a little peace and order in our lives. We're here to find out what the price of peace and order is in here."

That was definitely an appropriate statement. And, Napoleon decided as they left the very empty house, a chilling one.


	5. Mind Your P's and Q's

**Chapter Five**

Illya was still both annoyed by his adventure with Mr. Ecks and disturbed over Everett Barkley's vanishing act by the time he and Napoleon arrived home and they and Ecks and Wye parted ways.

"So," Napoleon said as they entered the house, "I take it you've had better days."

"I cannot stand that sarcastic delinquent," Illya fumed. "Do you know what happened when I brought up the fact that he and Mr. Wye betrayed their organization in order to achieve power for themselves?" He barreled on, knowing it was a rhetorical question. "He said he owed them nothing and he had never given them anything willingly!"

Napoleon nodded, seemingly unaffected. "Aha."

Illya frowned, turning to look at him. "'Aha' what? Napoleon, you're not siding with him!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

Napoleon calmly advanced into the living room, taking note once again of how alike their furnishings were with everyone else's. "No, I'm thinking of something you told me when you first discovered Mr. Ecks was still alive."

"Oh? And what would that be?" Illya followed him, confused and curious.

"You said that you saw Mr. Ecks as a dark mirror of yourself." Napoleon slowly and deliberately turned to face his partner and friend, who was clearly baffled.

"Yes, but what has that to do with this?" Illya retorted.

"In the land of your origin, did you always give them 'everything willingly'?"

Illya immediately spun away, marching past Napoleon towards his room. "That is entirely different."

"How?" Napoleon countered. He stayed where he was, one hand over the other, watching Illya's stormy journey.

Illya paused at the doorway to his room. "Because I had no choice. As a child I was placed into programs that I did not want, but had no say about." He gripped the doorframe. "But no one is pushed into joining an extremist organization against their will!"

"Maybe he was just like you." Now Napoleon started to walk down the hall towards Illya. "Maybe he ended up in that organization as a child and couldn't see any way to get out."

Surprised, Illya slowly turned back, still keeping one hand on the doorframe to lean on. His anger and frustration cooling, something came to his mind that he hadn't thought of before. "I remember," he said. "Albert Sully said something about there being children in the organization, mostly due to their parents being members."

"And if the parents died, the children had nowhere else to go," Napoleon nodded. "They certainly weren't allowed to leave. Even at that young age, they knew too much. And in many cases, the organization had high hopes for their future as agents or scientists or whatever their station in life was to be."

Frustrated at himself now, Illya hit the doorframe with his hand. "I didn't even stop to think that perhaps Mr. Ecks fell into that category! I suppose he could have meant something like that."

"You could always ask him, I guess. But he might not tell you." Napoleon started to move past him into the room.

"What are you doing?" Illya demanded, distracted from all thoughts about snarky British spies. "Your room is next-door, Napoleon."

"But it's your room that has that pesky picture." Napoleon climbed onto Illya's bed and stared at the picture up close. When he knelt, he was at perfect eye-level with it. "Why this picture? What's so special about it?"

"Probably nothing," Illya said. "Everything else is the same as well."

"I know, but since they could have chosen any picture in the world to place in every house, why this one?" Napoleon scrutinized the mysterious beaconing stranger, the woman watching him, and the scenery surrounding them both.

"I doubt they had any particular reason, other than perhaps it's the favorite picture of the one in charge," Illya said. "Now please, Napoleon, I am very tired. And I haven't forgotten your promise that we will go shopping in the morning so that I can make dinner tomorrow night."

"Maybe we should keep taking our meals at the Restaurant of Peace," Napoleon said, backing off of the bed. "And I swear I'm not saying that just to get out of tasting a meal prepared by you. It might be best for us to associate with the people here as much as possible, including at the restaurant. We don't have any clear idea on what's going on or if the Council is working for someone like THRUSH in secret."

Illya considered that. "I have to admit, that makes sense," he said, somewhat grudgingly.

"But we _will_ go shopping," Napoleon added. "That would be a way to associate with people too. And I imagine that sooner or later you'll get around to making breakfast or dinner or something like that."

"And you will eat it?" Illya asked pointedly.

"I will eat it," Napoleon answered.

"Thank you. Now, will you kindly get out of here so I may go to bed?" Illya started to pull off his black turtleneck shirt.

"Of course." Napoleon turned, leaving the room and going to his own.

Illya was surely grateful that his room didn't look out on the house next-door, he decided, catching sight of Mr. Ecks' silhouette on the curtains. After a moment, Mr. Wye joined him and they seemed to be engaging in conversation.

Napoleon sighed to himself as he loosened his tie. He really did sort of wish that Ecks hadn't found their little bug. He couldn't deny that he really would like to know what they were talking about.

xxxx

"This is becoming more insufferable all the time," Ecks growled, folding his arms.

"Kuryakin is probably thinking that exact same thing," Wye chortled. "You know that, don't you?"

"Well, naturally he would. I've been very obnoxious with him." Ecks' eyes flashed. "But then he had to bring up the organization and my decision to betray them. I don't like that."

"I know you don't, but it's understandable that Kuryakin would be thinking about that, isn't it?" Wye wandered over to inspect the painting over Ecks' bed.

"Yes," Ecks admitted with a scowl. "But I don't want to talk about it with him. It's not like it would mean anything to him anyway."

"You could be wrong about that," Wye replied. "He might be able to understand on some level, being from Russia and all."

"I guess that's possible. But not probable! He'd have some reason to think that our situations were still different." Ecks came closer. "Hey, are you figuring anything out about that thing?"

"Nope. And there's probably nothin' to figure out. But on the other hand, maybe Solo has it right about it not bein' the type of picture that Council would find good art. It does seem kind of out of place, don't it?" Wye leaned back, giving it a thoughtful look.

"I suppose. But maybe there's some sinister meaning behind it," Ecks suggested. "So the stranger seems benevolent. What if he isn't?"

"And he's beaconing to lead the bird into danger, eh?" Wye smirked. "I suppose that might be the way of it. They're sick-minded enough. Well, let's get to bed, shall we? Maybe we'll learn more in the morning, what with two people gone at once."

Ecks wasn't hopeful. "They'll probably just be as clammed up as they were before," he objected, beginning to undo his trenchcoat.

"Well, maybe we'll notice more fear from them. Something! We'll see." Wye turned to go. "Goodnight then, Duck."

"Goodnight." Ecks had long ago accepted Wye's affectionate nickname for him, even though at first he had definitely not liked it. By now, he would probably miss it if Wye stopped using it.

He continued undressing, pausing when he removed his shirt and the scar across his abdomen was visible. Sometimes he still had nightmares about that time. Not the actual act of being wounded so much, but what had come after. He was still quite sure that he had traveled out of his body for at least a few minutes. He knew he had seen Wye bending over him after returning from chasing the U.N.C.L.E. agents, knew he had heard that blasted debating club button clattering to the ground and seen it bounce under the bench.

He didn't want to think about that, though.

He climbed out of his trousers a bit angrily, tossing them on a chair and going for his pajamas. He would be glad when this assignment was over and they could go their separate ways from U.N.C.L.E. again.

If they really could. Maybe in the end, he would foul up and cause both he and Wye to become part of the missing. And if the missing really were being killed, well then, there wouldn't be much hope for the two of them.

Sighing, he shuffled into the connecting bathroom to wash up for bed.

xxxx

Morning dawned with a beautiful sunrise coming through the clouds. But even though Napoleon wasn't superstitious, he couldn't help finding the blood-red color a bit ominous. He was on high alert as he and Illya readied themselves for the day.

"There is no food in the house," Illya said flatly. "And I trust we will be taking breakfast at the restaurant?"

"Yes, and then going shopping right after," Napoleon promised.

"Good," Illya grunted.

The Restaurant of Peace did not seem changed from what it had been the previous night. The patrons looked over menus, talked, and ate, all while seeming completely unconcerned about the fact that two more of their number were gone.

Well, Napoleon thought, perhaps they just didn't know yet.

"Oh, hello!" Marietta called, weaving her way over to them.

On the other hand, Napoleon remembered, she was on the Council and had even turned Clarice in, despite her reluctance. It was hard to believe that she genuinely had no idea what became of the disappearing people. After all, wouldn't everyone on the Council be in on it? What seemed more believable was the idea that she was aware of whatever happened and it didn't deter her. It certainly didn't seem to be bothering her today.

"Hello," Napoleon smiled. "You seem to be in a good mood today."

"It's a beautiful day!" she chirped.

"No remorse for turning Clarice in last night?" Napoleon asked.

"Oh." Marietta did look uncomfortable. "Well, it had to be done," she said, averting her gaze.

"So she was told to move on?" Napoleon persisted, remembering what Marietta had said last night.

"Of course," Marietta said. "They took care of that right after the meeting. They always do."

Illya spoke up. "Since you refer to them as 'they', are we to assume that you never go along on these little missions?"

"I don't," Marietta nodded. "We have different functions. Mine is to watch for anything that goes against the rules. Naturally, everyone has that same charge, but it's specifically what I do on the Council."

"Did you choose that or was it chosen for you?" Napoleon wondered.

"It was chosen for me." Marietta looked guilty and then alarmed. "But don't think I don't appreciate whatever work I can get. I know Harvey and the others think things over very carefully before assigning people to do things."

"I'm sure," Illya grunted.

"It sounds fascinating," Napoleon said. "Would you care to have breakfast with us and tell us more about how the Council functions?"

"Oh . . ." Marietta glanced over her shoulder nervously. "I'd like to, but the Council members generally sit together."

"Another rule?" Illya said, unable to hide his disdain.

"Just tradition," Marietta said. "I'm sorry, but I'll see you later." Before either of them could reply, she hurried off.

"Well," Napoleon remarked, "that was interesting."

"I wonder if the Council orders all the members to sit together to avoid situations where one of them is pumped for information," Illya said, his eyes narrowing.

"Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised at all," Napoleon said. He weaved his way around the tables until he found their booth from the day before.

"We're going to sit here again?" Illya queried.

"Why not," Napoleon shrugged. "It might be another unspoken rule that everyone always claims the same tables."

"That wouldn't surprise me either," Illya said.

"And it looks like those two haven't had the best morning," Napoleon mused, looking to where Ecks and Wye were entering and looking troubled.

"I might be darkly satisfied by that if we didn't have to worry and wonder that whatever they're upset about might include us," Illya said dryly.

Even with that as a possible concern, neither of them were expecting the two former enemy agents to sit down at their booth. "I trust this isn't a social call?" Napoleon said with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"You trust right," Wye said gruffly. "We got a note slipped under our front door this morning. We don't like the looks of it."

Ecks dug into his coat pocket and pulled it out. Hiding it inside a menu, he passed it to Illya, who read it silently before passing it on to Napoleon.

 _I know what you were doing last night._

 _You'd better mind your P's and Q's if you_

 _don't want your fate to be just like Everett's_

 _and Clarice's. You might want to pass the word_

 _along to your neighbors, too._

"That's pleasant," Napoleon commented as he finished. "And you don't have any idea who the author might be?"

Wye quietly slipped the note out of the menu and into his coat pocket. "Not in the slightest," he grunted. "Except for one thing. I know it's a common expression and probably doesn't mean anything, but talkin' about P's and Q's puts us in mind of our old organization."

"All the elite spies had alphabet codenames," Ecks said. "I don't remember any Agent Pea, but there was an Agent Cue."

"And you think Cue might be here?" Napoleon frowned.

"It's possible anyway," Wye said. "And there _was_ a Mr. Pea, a little before Ecks' time. He was _supposed_ to be dead, but well, you can see how that isn't always the case."

"So what would either of those people be doing here now?" Illya demanded.

"Just looking for peace and quiet, perhaps," Wye shrugged.

"Or looking to assassinate us after what happened in London," Ecks added.

"Most of your organization is either in prison or dead," Illya said. "I'll have to contact Mr. Waverly to find out if Pea or Cue escaped capture."

"I'm surprised you'd even share this information with us," Napoleon commented.

Wye started to rise from the table. "Only because you two are included in the warning, old chap. It wouldn't have anything to do with you otherwise."

"No," Napoleon agreed, "I suppose it wouldn't."

Ecks nodded in agreement, getting up as well. "But regardless, we wouldn't have had to have told you."

"I know. A Thank You is in order," Illya said, to which Ecks dismissively waved a hand.

"Find out about those agents and you'll be doing us a favor as well as you," he said.

"Fair enough," Napoleon nodded. "Be careful in the meantime."

"So should you," Wye replied. With that, he and Ecks moved to the next booth down, leaving Napoleon and Illya to ponder on what they had just been told.


	6. Give It a Couple More Days

**Chapter Six**

Illya waited until after they ate and were back in the car, driving to the store, before he called Mr. Waverly. The commander of the New York branch of U.N.C.L.E. listened to Illya's story and concerns in all seriousness, although he raised a bushy eyebrow at the conclusion.

"Agents Pea and Cue?" Illya could hear him frowning. "I don't recall any mention of them in Albert Sully's reports. But I'll have someone start going over those reports anyway."

"Thank you, Sir," Illya said. "I don't suppose there is any way Albert Sully could be contacted and personally questioned on the matter?" With the destruction of the organization, he was no longer undercover as Mr. Raymond, but he was still in Paris, overseeing the dismantling of every house and building connected with the extremists and their members.

"I don't know, Mr. Kuryakin," Mr. Waverly replied. "But I'll look into that and let you know. Meanwhile, be careful there!" he instructed gruffly. "Regardless of who sent that message, someone knows that the four of you were out last night, watching those houses. Is there some sort of a Neighborhood Watch program in that community?"

"Not precisely," Illya said. "Everyone seems to be on the lookout for suspicious activity, but they aren't organized into a watch aside from the Homeowners' Council. Anyway, I'm certain that if multiple people had seen us, we would all be among the missing right now. We weren't out past curfew, but I wouldn't be surprised if hiding in the hedges is against the rules, even just to watch the Council enacting its punishment on people."

"Quite right, no doubt," Mr. Waverly agreed. "Especially since they apparently always enact their punishments under the guise of night. But if every resident is supposed to report suspicious activity, I must wonder why this particular person chose instead to send a warning. Or a threat, whichever it is."

"We're certainly going to try to find out," Illya promised. "Oh, and would it also be possible for you to have someone research a man called Martin Jensen?"

"There are no doubt many Martin Jensens," Mr. Waverly retorted. "Is there any way to pin down which one you're looking for?"

"He was a resident here, most likely not for long," Illya said. "Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye have been trying to find out what happened to him. They're being very casual about it, saying it's just because they've moved into his house and are curious, but I don't buy that."

"And of course they won't tell you," Mr. Waverly said with a sigh.

"Not at all," Illya said in irritation. "Mr. Wye insisted on keeping to the rule about not discussing anyone who has gone missing, once he and Ecks were given the brush-off."

"I'll have someone look into it," Mr. Waverly said.

"Thank you," Illya said again. Seeing Napoleon turn in at the store's parking lot, he added, "I need to go now, Sir, but please keep us informed."

"The same to you and Mr. Solo," Mr. Waverly said.

Illya nodded. "We will. Channel D out."

Napoleon sighed as he parked the car near the front doors. "I don't know; I'm more inclined to believe that the note has nothing to do with Ecks and Wye's organization and the usage of the 'Mind your P's and Q's' phrase was just a coincidence. It would seem a little much for a couple of their former coworkers to be staying here."

"That could very well be," Illya said, capping the communication pen. "On the other hand, if this is a THRUSH plot, perhaps Agents Pea and Cue escaped their organization's decimation and went over to THRUSH, where they were assigned to this community." He paused. "Only then it would fall to us to wonder why they don't just kill Ecks and Wye and get it over with."

Napoleon shrugged. "Maybe they want to draw it out, to make them squirm and suffer before killing them. Since Ecks and Wye were traitors to their organization, the other members may feel that simple, clean deaths are too good for the likes of them." He got out of the car.

"I suppose," Illya grunted. "I have never understood that mentality. If killing has to be done, it's better to do it and get it over with quickly. There is no need to drag it out without mercy."

"Of course," Napoleon said, "if it's a revenge killing, it doesn't _have_ to be done." He opened the door, stepping inside the market. "Hmm. This is nicer than I thought it would be."

"Why?" Illya returned. "The houses are quite nice, just all the same. It makes sense that the store would be appealing." He grabbed a shopping cart.

"True," Napoleon mused. "Do you know what you want to get here?"

"I made a list." Illya took it out of his pocket and set it in the top compartment of the cart. "And you?"

"I have an idea as well," Napoleon said. He took a cart of his own. "But it will go faster if we each pick up some of the other's items."

"Very well. Perhaps you can acquire the dairy items," Illya said, showing Napoleon his list.

Napoleon glanced through it, mentally recoiling at some of the items. "Dairy will be fine," he said. "And I'll pick up some of the produce. As for myself, I don't believe I have too many unusual items to procure. Mainly a loaf of raisin rye bread, if they have it here."

Illya sighed. "I was going to select a more normal variety, so I might as well look for that while I'm there."

Napoleon nodded. "Thank you," he said calmly.

"And we will meet in the middle of the store," Illya continued.

"Fair enough." Napoleon turned to head in his chosen direction.

The store was pleasant and well-organized, which was at least something Napoleon could say for it. Everything was easy to find, and the music playing over the loudspeakers was enjoyable to shop by. He greeted the people who passed by, but they only nodded and returned the salutations; they weren't in the mood to stop and talk. That could easy enough be because they wanted to focus on shopping, but Napoleon couldn't help but wonder if they just didn't want to talk to him specifically. He'd had the feeling that in spite of the friendliness of certain residents such as Marietta, the majority of the people did not like strangers and were wary of both him and Illya.

He was in the process of selecting cereal when lowered voices on the next aisle gave him pause.

" _Two_ people are gone today!" one woman moaned. "I saw Everett and Clarice's homes for sale when I was driving out here."

"Well, don't talk about it _here,_ " a second woman hissed. "You know we're not allowed to talk about the missing. They've violated the rules and they're not worthy to be discussed in public, according to the Council."

"I'm just so worried that one of us might be next," the first woman said. "I'm on pins and needles every day wondering if I'm for sure keeping every little rule. You know, I think they just make up some of them. I saw a worker repairing Clarice's step. If that was the only issue, I don't remember anything in the brochure about steps."

"I asked about that and was already told that a lot of the specific rules fall under general headings," the second woman said. They were walking up the aisle now, and Napoleon quietly moved forward on his side to keep pace with them.

"All it says is that you're supposed to keep your house in immaculate condition," the first woman said. "It doesn't say that a slightly creaking step is worthy of being immediately kicked out. I thought they'd at least give a warning first."

"Wait. You know the step was specifically creaking, instead of being broke through or something else?" The second woman sounded tense. "You knew that and you didn't report it?"

"I saw no need to," the first woman retorted. "I did mention to Clarice that she should probably get it fixed, and I figured that was all I needed to say to anyone."

"I'm sure the Council wouldn't agree with you," the second woman said.

"Hang the Council, every one of them," the first woman fumed. "I really think I've had enough. I'm going to them tonight and telling them that I don't fit in here and I want to move. You should too."

"What if the Council won't let you go?" the second woman worried. "I don't know if anyone here has ever tried to move, but maybe they have and they also disappear quietly in the night."

The first woman fell silent. "Well, if they won't let anyone go, what are we going to do?" she said in a very small voice. "We're practically prisoners here. I don't want to stay."

"Give it a little more time," the second woman encouraged. "I think those new people are trying to figure out what's going on. Maybe they can."

"Or maybe they'll disappear too," the first woman retorted.

"Let's wait and see for a couple of days, at least," the second woman said. They turned onto another aisle, leaving Napoleon frowning and pondering over their words.

So at least some of the residents had noticed what he and Illya, and maybe Ecks and Wye, were doing. In any case, they suspected. And if _they_ suspected, it was a good bet that the Council did too. That was most definitely _not_ encouraging.

Sobered now, Napoleon continued his journey to find what was needed to stock their house.

Hopefully they would have a chance to use the purchases.

xxxx

Ecks sat on a park bench and shook out the town newspaper, scanning the day's stories with a good deal of unimpressed boredom. "Not one mention of those people being turned in last night," he grunted. "The only indication that something happened at all is that their houses went up in the real-estate listings."

"What would you expect them to do?" Wye answered. "Announce it all over the place that they've asked two more Peaceful Meadows residents to 'leave'? Seems to me that this rule of not speakin' about it strikes more fear into people than if they talked freely about what happened and why."

"It does, doesn't it." Ecks paused, then folded the paper and set it on his lap, supporting it with one hand. "It also bothers me that a lot of the people here don't even want to work outside the community. It's like they think this is some kind of perfect shelter from the storms of life and that even so much as setting one foot outside the gate will result in a calamity."

"They sure are off in the head, aren't they?" Wye chuckled.

"I can't find it as amusing as you do," Ecks shot back. "Who knows what people this paranoid might do!"

"For now let's just worry about the Council. Alright? The sheep what follow them ain't so much a concern to me as their leaders are."

"And the possibility that now we've got two former colleagues out to get us," Ecks worried.

"Eh. 'P's and Q's' probably don't mean anything. I wouldn't put too much stock in that."

"You say that, and yet you were the one who first brought up the idea of showing the note to Kuryakin and Solo," Ecks said. "It wasn't just because they were mentioned too; you were hoping they could find out something that would help us."

"I was; I'll admit that," Wye nodded. "But I'm not planning to sit back and let them do all our research for us. There's plenty for us to look into."

"If we could get a list of all the residents, which seems unlikely." Ecks crossed his arms.

"They might have a computer database with all of that sort of information in it," Wye suggested. "You figured out how to reprogram U.N.C.L.E.'s supercomputers back when you were stalking Kuryakin. Maybe you could also figure out how to get all of this juicy Peaceful Meadows information to us."

"Possibly." But Ecks didn't seem convinced. "Do you think they'd put all of their confidential information on something that can be as unpredictable as a computer? It seems they might be more traditional and old-fashioned and store it in physical files, if at all."

"Eh, with these people it's a toss-up," Wye grunted. "Files can be found too. For all we know, maybe they don't keep any records at all."

"Or maybe their bosses keep them. We still don't know how far-reaching this scheme is." Ecks started to get off the bench. "Finding out isn't going to be easy, either, not when they keep the front offices so closely guarded."

"And maybe _that's_ a red herring," Wye said, standing as well. "Maybe if the files are here, and not on a computer, they're at the homes of the Council members."

"That Marietta person seems to like Kuryakin and Solo a lot," Ecks observed. "If we could endear ourselves to her, maybe eventually she would give us some information."

"Or tell the Council about us," Wye replied. "Let's not forget that her first dedication is to that blasted Council."

"Yes, but she's reluctant," Ecks pointed out. "If we could show her that something terrible is going on, she might come over to our side."

"If, if, _if._ If we had the proof to show her that something's off here, we probably wouldn't _need_ to show her anything." Wye frowned, seeing Ecks stare off towards the business district's Main Street. "Now what are you seeing?"

Ecks looked troubled. "I think it's Jennifer Jensen." He took out his miniature telescope, focusing it across the street.

"Jennifer Jensen?!" Wye rushed over to follow his partner's line of vision. "What the ruddy devil would she be doin' _here?!_ "

"Going into the grocery store," Ecks said grimly. "And it _is_ her; I'm sure of it." He shoved the telescope back in his pocket. "Let's go."

Wye chased after him as he marched out of the park and across the street in determination. This was _not_ a good development. Not at all.

"Ruddy impatient female," he growled, storming up to Ecks. "She can't leave things to the professionals."

"I guess we weren't solving things fast enough for her," Ecks said over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, if she was goin' to strike out on her own, she might as well have just done that instead of coming to us," Wye snarled. "And if her bein' here makes things worse for us, I'm going to add that to the bill."

"It's going to make it worse," Ecks said flatly as he arrived at the store's parking lot.

Seeing that Ecks was looking at Napoleon's convertible, Wye stopped and looked to the Heavens in disbelieving dismay.

xxxx

Illya was just finishing his part of the grocery shopping and heading for the middle of the store when he nearly crashed into a young woman coming from the front of the building and not seeming to watch where she was going. Perturbed, Illya ground to a halt as quickly as he could. "This isn't a public street, but it's still generally a good policy to look in all directions before stomping into a store," he snapped.

She looked to him, actually noticing him for the first time. "Oh. I'm sorry," she apologized. "You're right; I should have been watching." She brushed her shoulder-length black curls away from her face.

"I haven't seen you at Peaceful Meadows before," Illya noted. Not that he and Napoleon had met all of the residents, but it seemed a good way to try to ease into a conversation.

"I haven't been," she said. "I'm looking for a Mr. Allan Finch. Do you know him?"

Illya scowled. "The only Allan I know lives next-door to us, with his friend."

"Luther Harris?"

"Luther Something. I suppose Harris." Illya shrugged. "We haven't heard people use surnames very often around here." He peered at her. "If you're new here, what is your business with Allan?"

"That's something I need to discuss with him." She kept a tight grip on her purse. "But if you live next-door, have you heard anything about Martin Jensen?"

"Only that people don't talk about him around here," Illya frowned. "He seems to be quite popular regardless." Seeing Napoleon coming from the other direction, he asked, "Do you know him?"

"Of course," she answered. "I'm his sister."


	7. The Omelettes of Peace

**Chapter Seven**

"Martin Jensen's sister?" Illya exclaimed, unable to hide his surprise.

"And you've come here to find him," Napoleon said as he arrived, having overheard the last exchange.

"Well . . . or to find out what's happened to him, whatever it is." The dark-haired woman continued to clutch at her purse, eyeing Napoleon with a slightly suspicious and confused eye.

"This is my roommate," Illya explained. He glanced around the store. "This is perhaps not the place to have a proper discussion. If you will wait for us to check out, you can come back with us and we'll see if your _friends_ are home."

"Thank you," she said in relief.

But just as Illya and Napoleon were hurrying to the nearest checkout stand, Ecks and Wye rushed through the doors and over to the beautiful stranger.

"What the devil are you doin' _here?!_ " Wye hissed.

She whirled to look at him. "I've been waiting for your first progress report!" she shot back. "You've been here for days and I haven't heard anything!"

"We warned you that we might not be able to make contact once we were inside," Ecks said in annoyance, folding his arms. "We haven't found a legitimate reason to leave the community."

She stared at him. "You have to have a _reason_ to leave?!"

Wye nodded. "Pretty much. They ask at the front gate. They asked you why you were comin' in, didn't they?"

"Yes." She continued to grip her purse, apparently a nervous habit. "I said I was coming to visit the two of you."

"And you didn't give your right name, I trust," Wye said.

"Of course I didn't!" she retorted. "Not after I called the front office before I hired you two and completely got the run-around about Martin!"

Napoleon, the first through the line, wheeled his cart of paid-for items over to the group. "It sounds like you three have a lot to talk about," he mused. "Illya invited your lovely friend to come back with us, but that was to find you. Nevertheless, I think it's about time we were included on your activities." He gave Wye a pointed look.

Wye did not look impressed. "And why should you be? Just because you found our 'lovely friend' first?"

"No," Napoleon answered calmly. "More because we all seem to have a goal in common, even though our reasons are different. And I'm thinking that instead of continuing our childish squabbles, we should pool our resources and work together to find the solution."

"You haven't talked to Kuryakin about that, have you?" Ecks said with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm planning to," Napoleon said. "I think we should all meet in our kitchen and discuss the entire situation from the top."

Ecks and Wye exchanged an uncomfortable look. "Well," Wye said at last, "we're all going to the same place. You talk it over with Kuryakin and we'll talk it over with our 'friend' and we'll see what we come up with when we get there."

"Fair enough," Napoleon nodded, taking note that Wye was being careful not to say the woman's name. Which was probably the best policy, considering that her brother was a taboo subject.

xxxx

Illya was not pleased when he met Napoleon at the doors and they took their carts to Napoleon's car. "Just what were you discussing with them?" he frowned, watching as they headed to a blue car that apparently belonged to the woman.

"Oh, nothing much," Napoleon calmly answered. "Just that perhaps we should stop treating each other as the enemy in this situation." He placed two bags in the backseat and straightened, looking to the stunned Illya.

"Right now, we don't know whether they're the enemy or not!" the Russian exclaimed.

"But we do know that we all want to find out what's going on around here," Napoleon replied. "It's starting to sound like that woman asked Mr. Wye and Mr. Ecks to look into the disappearance of her brother."

"That seems a little low-key for their usual tastes," Illya sniffed.

They finished loading the groceries and took the carts to the nearest cart station before climbing into the car and driving off. By now the blue car had already left.

"We really don't know what they're up to these days, as you just got through pointing out," Napoleon said. "Perhaps they have to take whatever work they can get, even if it's . . . low-key. I would have to say, though, that these particular disappearances seem to be anything _but_ low-key."

"Very true." Illya stared ahead. "But I still do not like the idea of trying to work with them."

"You said you wanted to give them a chance to choose a different path this time around," Napoleon said. "Maybe the only way you can know whether they have is to take the risk and extend a bit of trust. Anyway, by this point I think we'd do well to be allies rather than enemies, considering we have a common enemy in whoever is behind what's going on here."

Illya sighed. "You do have a point. Alright. If they agree, I will as well. But even if we declare a truce, we had better both stay on the alert for a possible double-cross."

"Agreed," Napoleon nodded.

xxxx

The blue car was parked next-door when the U.N.C.L.E. agents arrived. Somewhat to their surprise, the passengers were still there instead of inside the house.

"Well, here you are," Wye drawled, pushing himself away from the door, where he had been leaning.

"Yes, here we are," Napoleon said slowly. "What have you decided?"

"I'll tell you, we're still unsure," Wye said. "But . . ." He looked to Ecks before speaking again. "We figure U.N.C.L.E. is pretty trustworthy. So maybe we'll lay our cards on the table, so to speak, and see how we feel after everybody knows everything."

Ecks nodded in agreement. "If you're ready, we'll do it now. Our 'friend' is willing to bring you in on it."

"Fine," Illya said brusquely. "Help us carry in the groceries and I will make lunch while we talk."

"Lunch?" Napoleon raised an eyebrow. "We only started shopping after breakfast."

"And it took two hours," Illya retorted. "By the time we put everything away and I prepare lunch, we'll be hungry again."

"That's debatable," Napoleon muttered apprehensively.

Illya ignored that.

Napoleon had to admit, he was a bit amused by the sight of the former enemy agents bringing in paper bags filled with eggs, vegetables, and non-food items such as paper towels. When everything had been placed on the kitchen table, Illya started going through the sacks to find what needed to be placed in the fridge. "Alright," he said as he opened a produce bin, "start talking."

Wye started to settle down at the table, but stopped and scowled when Napoleon handed him some cereal to put in the cupboard. "Ms. Jennifer Jensen here hired us to find out about her brother," he said grudgingly.

"And why you?" Napoleon asked.

"We do things like that," Ecks said flatly.

"They bill themselves as consultants and troubleshooters," Jennifer said.

Illya straightened and turned. "Which is basically a euphemism for private investigators?" he guessed.

"Now, it's illegal to be private investigators in this state without workin' for three years under a licensed one," Wye said smoothly.

"But that wouldn't stop you," Illya retorted.

"It's not illegal to be a consultant," Ecks said. "And who knows what a troubleshooter does. They're really quite versatile." He grinned wickedly. "Anyway, as far as investigating goes, you actually don't need a license to look for missing people. Which is strange, considering how that's probably one of the most dangerous things you can do."

"I can't imagine you would be doing this type of work if you had found another spy organization that wanted you," Illya said.

"It's not like you can go advertise your services at Spies Are Us or somethin'," Wye said.

"And I doubt any organization would even hire you if they knew about your double-crossing past," Illya said.

Jennifer looked bewildered. "Spies? Double-crossing?! What have I got myself into?!"

"Now, what we did in the past has nothing to do with what we're doing for you in the present," Wye said to her. "If anything, you should be grateful that you've got a couple of former spies working for you. We really know the business."

Jennifer tried to relax. "I guess that's true."

"As far as the mystery goes, we don't really know any more than you," Wye said, looking to Napoleon. "At least, not if what we've found out together is pretty much the extent of your knowledge. We got here not long before you did."

"All we've really figured out is that the people here don't like strangers," Ecks said.

"The people here are also starting to figure out what we're doing here," Napoleon announced. "Or at least, some of them are."

"What?!" Illya spun around, holding the carton of eggs. "Napoleon, why didn't you tell me this?"

"I only found out shortly before we ran into Ms. Jensen," Napoleon said. "These two ladies were talking and feeling rather frightened about the disappearances. One of them mentioned they should wait to think about moving until they saw what we came up with."

"This is disturbing." Illya shoved the eggs into the bread compartment, carton and all. "How would they know? And if they know, why doesn't the Council know?"

"Who's to say they don't?" Napoleon answered, handing Illya the milk. "I'm afraid our hours here are numbered. I suppose it just looked too suspicious for four new people to move in almost at once, especially when two of those people asked about Martin Jensen and the other two didn't seem to approve of the harsh rules and regulations around here."

"Well, that's just great." Wye threw his hands in the air. "So if you blokes hadn't blundered into the investigation we already set up, maybe we'd be getting somewhere."

"Unfortunately, we had no way of knowing that two _troubleshooters_ had already been assigned to the case," Illya retorted with dripping sarcasm. "Not before we were already here."

"You're right, of course," Wye relented. "I apologize."

"But you showing up looking for us is probably only going to make them even more suspicious," Ecks said to Jennifer. "What kind of cover story did you give for wanting us?"

"I said I was a friend from your old neighborhood and I just wanted to see how you were getting along here," Jennifer said. "They seemed to believe me."

"Naturally they would _seem_ to," Illya grunted. "They probably wanted to let you in to follow you and try to figure out your ulterior motive, if you had one. Which of course you did."

Jennifer sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I didn't mean to come in and cause more trouble," she berated, rubbing her forehead. "I'm just so worried about Martin."

"Did he ever say anything to indicate what was happening here?" Napoleon asked kindly.

"Not really," Jennifer said. "He just talked about how great it was to live where there was so much order. He never sounded like he had a problem with how things are run. Then, all of a sudden, there were no more letters or phone calls. When I called to ask about him, I was told only that he had violated one of the rules and had been told he had to move on. But when he didn't come back, I knew there must be more to it."

Illya turned on the stove and dug out a cookbook he had added to the purchases. "It's actually quite strange that the Council apparently didn't take into consideration that family and friends would come here looking for the missing people when they didn't return to their old lives," he said. "They don't seem to be that incompetent."

"I wouldn't say they're incompetent at all," Napoleon said. "It's almost as though the Council either doesn't care if people come looking or that they feel there's no reason for alarm."

"But why would they, unless . . ." Wye trailed off, suddenly realizing where Napoleon was going with that musing.

"Unless they really _are_ just asking people to move on and think that's what's happening," Napoleon said. "What if it isn't the Council, but someone else who's making sure that the missing never get back?"

Illya set the open cookbook down on the table and leaned on the table with his palms. "But who on Earth would be behind it then?" he frowned. "If this is a THRUSH plot, I would think that the Council would all be in on it."

"Perhaps only some of the Council is, unbeknownst to the rest," Napoleon said. "Or maybe it's some of the residents."

Ecks grimaced, propping himself up on an elbow. "We really don't know much of any of what's going on, even by pooling our resources," he said in annoyance.

"I still wonder if those paintings don't have something to do with it," Napoleon said. "It's such an out-of-place scene, considering everything that's going on in town. I say we should examine our copies more closely."

"We have already tried that," Illya said irritably. "And I checked mine again this morning. I can't find anything about it to indicate that it's not a normal painting."

"Maybe I'm wrong," Napoleon shrugged. "But another examination couldn't hurt."

"I suppose not." Illya picked up the cookbook again and leafed through it. Suddenly he rocked back, frowning at the page.

"What is it?" Napoleon blinked.

"I cannot believe the utter stupidity of some people," Illya fumed. "Why on Earth should any recipe have to say, 'Caution: When prepared, this dish is too hot to handle. Allow it to cool for five minutes before serving'?"

Wye slapped his thigh and cackled. "I tell you, Ecks, the general intelligence of humanity is dropping all the time. Some daft idiot must've tried to bite into the thing when it was too hot and tried to sue the cookbook company over it! Then they've got no choice but to put stupid warnings in the books in case there's other twits out there that might do the same thing."

Ecks shook his head. "We could write a book on the idiotic warning labels we've seen."

"Well, no matter." Illya went to the fridge and took out the eggs. "I am going to make omelettes. Then, after we have lunch, we'll look over the paintings again."

"Fair enough," Wye said agreeably.

"So," Napoleon prompted, "are we going to have a truce?" Behind him, Illya cracked eggs into the kettle, tense but not speaking as he watched their adversaries closely.

Again Wye and Ecks exchanged a look. "I suppose, just for now," Wye said. "It saves time and energy trying to out-spy you."

"Good," Napoleon said. He held out a hand to shake on the deal. Wye took it, giving it a firm shake.

Illya and Ecks had a more difficult time. For a long moment they glowered at each other, not particularly thrilled with the idea but understanding the reasoning behind it. At last, holding out their hands, they grasped each other's for a brief shake.

Then, worried about his omelettes, Illya hurried back to the stove.

And, displeased over the egg on Illya's fingers, Ecks rushed to the sink.


	8. I'll Take Door Number One

**Chapter Eight**

Napoleon had to admit, to his utter surprise and relief, Illya knew how to make omelettes. Or at least, if he didn't, their delicious taste was a happy accident.

The others at the table seemed impressed as well. Ecks and Wye, and even the worried Jennifer, enjoyed the lunch. By the time everyone was done and Illya was filling the kettle with water to soak until he could give it a proper wash, there was a general mood of feeling ready to tackle whatever came at them next in the mystery.

"Alright," Illya said as he set the kettle down, "so now we will investigate that painting once again."

"You won't mind so many people crowding into your room?" Napoleon wondered.

"I will, but I will deal with it in the name of a good cause," Illya answered.

He led the group down the hall and into his room. Wye and Napoleon went forward first, studying the painting from all angles and looking for any hidden images or messages in the scene that could help piece the mystery together. When they gave up, Illya and Ecks tried.

"Oh, this is impossible!" Illya ranted at length. "If there is any message in this picture other than the possibly ominous idea of what the man is actually beaconing the woman to come with him about, I cannot find it."

Ecks sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hands on the covers. "I don't see any letters in it at all."

"Not even the artist's name," Illya realized. He got up, taking the picture off the hook. "Perhaps if we relieve it of its frame, we'll find the artist's name underneath."

"It would be unusual to cover it up like that," Napoleon mused.

Ecks stood, allowing Illya to bring the framed painting to the bed. "If it was really the case, maybe it would mean there's a clue in the name," he said.

Illya was already working to separate painting from frame. Ecks watched for a moment and then assisted, holding the frame steady while Illya worked.

"No wonder thieves cut paintings out of their frames," Illya grunted.

But at last it was liberated and everyone crowded around. "Well?" Jennifer demanded.

"It means nothing to me," Illya reported. "Mary Apple."

"Apple's a real last name?" Wye said doubtfully.

"If it isn't, why would anyone _choose_ it as their last name?" Ecks retorted.

While they were puzzling over that, Illya's communication pen went off. Jennifer jumped a mile, but no one else batted an eye. "Excuse me a moment," Illya said to her before uncapping the device. "Kuryakin."

"We haven't had much luck with your Pea and Cue mystery, I'm afraid," Mr. Waverly said. "The only information we could uncover is what your Mr. Wye and Mr. Ecks already believe, that Mr. Pea is dead. The agent known as Ms. Cue has completely eluded us. Apparently she was never either picked up or killed. I hope, Mr. Kuryakin, that you're having more luck on your end."

"We're not sure, Sir," Illya replied. "Martin Jensen's sister has arrived, impatient to find her brother. And we do at last know what Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye are doing here—they were hired by her to find Martin Jensen."

"Well, it would seem that Martin Jensen is almost at the center of this entire mystery," Mr. Waverly remarked.

Illya wanted to ask if he had learned anything about him, but hesitated when Jennifer was right in the room. "Right now we are all together," he said, signaling to Mr. Waverly that he could not talk freely at the moment. Jennifer would no doubt be suspicious if he left the room altogether. Ecks and Wye certainly wouldn't like it and would question it, especially after they had agreed to a truce.

"I see," Mr. Waverly said, instantly taking the hint.

"We have agreed to a temporary truce with Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye," Illya continued.

"Good," Mr. Waverly shot back. "If all they're doing there is investigating Martin Jensen's disappearance, perhaps you can get to the bottom of things if you all work together."

"That's what we're hoping, Sir," Illya said.

"I'll let you get back to that, then," Mr. Waverly said.

"Oh, one thing," Illya quickly interjected. "There's a painting in every one of the houses. We took one down to look it over more closely and we found the artist's name—Mary Apple."

"Mary . . . Apple. That's . . . quite an unusual name," Mr. Waverly said. Illya was sure he was raising an eyebrow. "Alright, I'll start research into her as well."

"Thank you, Sir," Illya said again.

As he hung up and turned to look at the group, he saw that Ecks and Wye were exchanging an uneasy look. Napoleon looked thoughtful, while Jennifer just looked bowled over.

"What's all this about alphabet letters?" she demanded. "Pea? Cue? And you two are Ecks and Wye now?!" She looked to her hired detectives.

"We were in the past, Lovey," Wye said, folding his arms. "It's part of that spy business."

"Codenames," Ecks added flatly.

"What was your relationship with this Ms. Cue during your time working together?" Illya asked, deciding it best to not mention an extremist group if at all possible. Jennifer was rattled enough as it was.

"She was nice," Ecks said.

Wye nodded. "She liked us fine back then. But who's to say how she would feel now, considering the . . . erm . . . _incident._ "

" _What_ incident?!" Jennifer threw her hands in the air. "You're working for me; I think I have a right to know exactly what happened and how it might connect up with Martin!"

"It shouldn't connect up at all," Wye retorted. "Not unless she's responsible for a warning that got slipped under our door this morning."

Ecks nodded. "And she might not have anything to do with it. It could be a coincidence."

"And what would happen if she _did_ send it?" Jennifer countered.

". . . Let's just say if she were to catch up with us now, she might be feeling about as _un_ friendly as you could imagine," Wye said.

"Let us say," Illya agreed with a grunt. "But this really is wasting time. We should focus on the problems that we _know_ connect up."

"Or at least, the ones that very likely might." Napoleon reached for the abandoned painting on the bed. "Mary Apple. . . . I wonder why they didn't want that to show above the frame."

"Because they thought no one would take it seriously?" Illya retorted.

Ecks leaned on the headboard with one elbow. "She could be someone who used to live here," he suggested. "Maybe she was one of the first they kicked out."

"Yes, but wouldn't they want her name to show in that case, to remind everyone that no matter their contributions, they could be eliminated the same way?" Illya countered.

"Mary Apple," Napoleon mused again. "Crabapples. . . ."

"What?" Wye shot him a bewildered look.

Napoleon looked to him. "It's just possible that Mary Apple _still_ lives here," he said. "Just not under that name."

"Marietta Crabtree?" Illya said in disbelief.

Napoleon nodded. "I'd like to ask her about the painting, at least," he said. "Maybe if she _did_ paint it, she could tell us what it's supposed to represent."

"And in any case, she could certainly tell us why the Council wants it in every house," Illya said, his eyes taking on a new gleam.

"If she would go against the Council and talk to you about it," Wye retorted. "She might not."

Ecks leaned harder on the headboard, placing his hand on the side of his head. "Out of everyone here, she's probably the only one in a high-ranking position who might finally bend and . . ."

Suddenly the headboard clicked and fell backward, sending Ecks falling with a shocked cry. At the same moment, the entire wall with the picture opened up and sent the bed spinning out of sight.

Jennifer screamed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. Wye, Napoleon, and Illya rushed forward, pounding frantically on the wall. "Ecks!" Wye yelled. "Are you alright in there?!"

"Yes." Ecks sounded dazed, his voice muffled by the wall.

"Well, pull on the ruddy headboard again and come back out," Wye ordered.

"Wait a minute," Napoleon interjected. "This could be how everyone disappeared without a trace." Louder he said, "What's it like in there?"

"Just a minute." Ecks groped in his trenchcoat pockets until he found a small flashlight. Clicking it on, he shined it around the space. "It's a room, but it doesn't seem to go anywhere," he reported.

"A random room for no reason?" Illya scoffed. "Tap on the walls. It must lead to somewhere else!"

For the next few minutes Ecks tried that. "Nothing," he called back at last. "The walls aren't hollow."

"And the floor?" Napoleon prompted.

"The floor is dirt," Ecks replied.

"It could be concealing a trapdoor," Illya insisted.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes. "There's nothing, unless it's buried several feet down," Ecks objected then. "I'd need a shovel to look deeper."

"Alright, Duck," Wye sighed. "Come back."

Everyone quickly leaped away from the wall as another click brought the bed swirling out again. Annoyed, Ecks walked past and right into the connecting bathroom, wanting to wash the dirt off his hands.

Illya glowered after him. "Don't leave any on the sink," he ordered.

Wanting to see the room for himself, Napoleon pressed the headboard but then jammed the frame at the wall when it opened a crack, propping it open and preventing the bed from swinging completely inside. "Hmm," he mused, studying the space beyond.

The others crowded around. "It's nothing special," Illya frowned. "It's a room of nothing, just as Mr. Ecks said. It could be used to hold someone for a time, but unless there's another way to get in and out, they could never be trapped there as long as they had the bed."

"Yeah. The beds weren't missing in those houses last night," Wye said, "so they weren't in the panels."

"And if anyone had been trapped in the secret rooms last night, they would have pounded and called for us to help them get out," Napoleon said.

"Unless they were incapable of pounding and calling out," Illya said grimly.

Jennifer went sheet-white. "You mean . . . dead?"

"Or drugged," Napoleon quickly returned. "We don't know what's happening to the missing people. They might still be alive."

"And they might not be," Illya said, not wanting to give Jennifer false hopes.

"Let's call Marietta Crabtree and see if she'll come over," Ecks suggested as he returned to the room. "We're only acquiring more questions and she might be the one to answer them."

"I agree," Napoleon nodded. "I'd say we have several things here that are in need of explaining."

"I'd say that _we_ deserve an explanation as well."

The group looked up with a collective jerk. The Homeowners' Council, fronted by Harvey and Marietta, was standing in the bedroom doorway.

"How did you get in?!" Illya snapped. "The door was locked!"

"Ah, but everyone on the Council has a master key to every home." Harvey held his up.

Unable to stand it any longer, Jennifer stormed forward. "Where's my brother?!" she screamed. "What did you do with him?!"

Marietta jumped, looking honestly bewildered. "Your brother?" she repeated.

"Martin Jensen," Jennifer snarled with a curt nod.

"First things first," Illya growled. "What made you come here and use your master key?"

Harvey slipped the key into his pocket. "We've been wondering about this young lady ever since she got here," he said. "When we received a report that she, as well as Mr. Finch and Mr. Harris, went into your house, we decided we should investigate further."

"You really don't believe in privacy, do you?" Wye said in annoyance. "You couldn't even knock?"

"I'm glad we didn't," Harvey said, staring at the de-framed painting on the bed and the panel being pried half-open by the frame. "What _happened_ here? Why is the house dismantled like this?!"

Ecks folded his arms. "I was just leaning on the bed when it happened."

"Oh dear," Marietta sighed. "I knew the panel could be opened too easily."

"And the painting?" Harvey persisted.

"We found it so entrancing, we wanted to know who brought it to life," Napoleon said smoothly. "So we took it out of the frame to see. We would really love to meet this 'Mary Apple', if she's around."

Marietta ignored that and looked to Jennifer. "It's really true that your brother hasn't been back since he was here?"

"Yes!" Jennifer exclaimed, her voice ragged.

"But all we did was tell him that he would have to move on," Marietta insisted. "He should have gotten back to you."

"Well, since he _didn't,_ that makes all of you the last people to see him alive," Jennifer snapped. "And I think this charade has gone on long enough. Either you let me see my brother, alive, or I'm getting the police here."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a look, wondering if they should reveal their true identities. It was debatable whether that would help the situation at this point, and since the Council seemed to have the upper hand, it seemed better to stay silent on that point. However, Napoleon had another idea.

"It seems reasonable," he said calmly. "I'm surprised you haven't already had the police here, after so many people have vanished without a trace and, according to people such as Ms. Jensen here, never contact the outside world again." He folded his arms. "I think all of us are understandably disturbed by what Ms. Jensen has told us. That's why we were all meeting here, because we saw her arrive and she thought we had a right to know the truth."

"I don't understand this!" Marietta cried. "Why _haven't_ they contacted anyone? Being asked to leave here isn't something to be so ashamed of that they should want to isolate themselves from everyone they know!"

"I also don't understand what these rooms are for," Napoleon said. "I'm not sure I like something like this being in our house."

"There's nothing sinister about it," Harvey said, finally finding his voice. "They're so that anyone asked to leave can slip away quietly without a fuss."

"I couldn't find any way out of there," Ecks objected.

"You have to know exactly the right code sequence," Harvey said. "It won't open up just by doing one thing."

"Hmm. You should have gone into the spy business," Napoleon mused.

"Why don't you just step inside and we'll demonstrate?" a crusty old man growled.

"I think we'd rather not, thank you," Napoleon said calmly, envisioning them all being locked in—or worse.

"I think we're going to step into your office and we're going to talk to the gate guard and find out if he let Martin out that night," Jennifer ordered. "And you're going to let him talk, instead of furthering this nonsense about no one being allowed to speak of the missing!"

"Well, you certainly think you're the boss around here," Harvey remarked. "But very well; we'll do it. We want to clear ourselves on this matter." With that he turned, leading the Council to the door. Jennifer marched after them.

"Naturally we're going along," Napoleon said to Marietta, who had lingered behind.

"Of course," she said dazedly. "We'll all go."

"And hope we're not walking into a trap," Illya said under his breath.

"We probably are," Ecks said in disgust.

"Unfortunately, that's sometimes the only way to learn things," Napoleon mused.

"More's the pity," Wye grunted.


	9. A Little Too Helpful

**Chapter Nine**

Jack the gate guard was confused and bewildered when the entire group marched up to him. "What is this?" he exclaimed.

Harvey stopped in front of him and spoke calmly. "Jack, this young woman lied to get in here. Oh, she wanted to speak with Allan and Luther alright, but her reason was really because they're trying to help her find her brother, Martin Jensen."

Jack stiffened. "M-Martin Jensen?" he stammered.

Jennifer folded her arms, giving him a displeased glare.

"It's alright, Jack," Harvey soothed. "You can talk about him this one time. Tell Ms. Jensen if you saw Martin out the gate the night he had to move on."

"Even if they use the secret panels in the houses, anyone leaving still has to go through the gate," Marietta explained. She had regained her composure on the walk and now seemed perfectly confident once again in the community.

Harvey nodded. "So Jack is always the one person who actually sees everyone depart."

"Here's a good question for you," Wye spoke up. "I've been thinkin' about it and those panels don't make a lot of sense. Most of these people still have motorcars. If they go out through the panels, how are they going to get their cars to go with them?"

"Not to mention their belongings, if they have more than what would fit in a couple of suitcases," Ecks added pointedly.

"You're forgetting about the curfew," Harvey said. "No one is allowed to drive after ten P.M. All of our departures happen late at night, when everyone is asleep. There's no need for the whole community to know, after all. When the curfew is lifted in the morning, Jack drives the vehicles out the gate and to wherever the departing guest wants."

"As for belongings, people rarely accumulate more than what would fit in their cars, at least," another Council member spoke up.

"I load all of those, too," Jack stammered.

"So, back to the original question," Jennifer said, her tone very clipped. "Did you see my brother out the night he was told to leave?"

Jack snapped to attention and looked to her. "Y-Yes, of course," he said. "I saw him right out. It was around two A.M."

"And just what was he going to do until he could get his car?" Jennifer demanded.

"I . . . I called him a cab," Jack said. "He went to the hotel in town. That's where I took his car and other stuff in the morning. That's all I know. Honest!"

Napoleon wasn't so sure. "You seem awfully nervous," he voiced. "Why, if that's truly all you know? It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Instead of answering the question, Jack jumped and stared at him. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "And you?" He looked to Illya.

"We live next-door to Allan and Luther and we saw them coming with Ms. Jensen," Napoleon said. "She thought we should know the story of her brother. I'm inclined to agree."

"You can check the hotel," Jack insisted. "They'll have a record of him being there."

"Then that's exactly where we're going to go now," Napoleon said.

Illya turned to Harvey. "I trust that we will be allowed to leave?"

"Of course," Harvey retorted. "It's nowhere near curfew yet."

The entire group was troubled as they walked back to their cars parked by the front office. "Well, now, what do you make of that?" Wye frowned. "I say that chap's lyin' through his teeth."

"I agree," Illya declared.

"He's certainly afraid of something," Napoleon mused. "I don't know if he's lying, but he knows more than he said."

"But we also have to face the idea that maybe he _isn't_ lying," Ecks spoke up, leaning on the hood of his and Wye's car with both hands. "What happens if we get to that hotel and everything checks out?"

"There's a lot of possibilities," Napoleon said. "Perhaps the hotel is actually where everyone disappears. We'll have to find out if our most recent missing persons went there too. Or maybe whatever happens, happens after they leave the hotel."

"Or perhaps the hotel staff would lie and say Martin Jensen and the other missing people were there when they were not," Illya retorted. "They could all be in the pay of whoever is behind this."

"Well, let's not stand around talking about it!" Jennifer snapped. "Let's go!" Without waiting for the others, she leaped into her car and sped ahead. Jack allowed her through the gate.

Illya climbed into Napoleon's car. "Let's talk _while_ we go," he said flatly.

Napoleon nodded. "Good idea."

xxxx

It wasn't hard to find the hotel; the surrounding town was small and it was the only inn. But when the hotel staff was only too eager to cooperate, informing them that yes, Martin had stayed there and so had Clarice and Everett, but they had all left, and the manager even showed all three of the rooms where they had stayed, Napoleon and Illya's suspicions only mounted.

"This is not logical," Illya frowned. "Why are they being so helpful? I thought we might either have to bribe them or break our cover and show our U.N.C.L.E. identification before they would do anything."

"Yes, it doesn't make sense, does it?" Napoleon said low, glancing about before entering what had supposedly been Martin's room. "They might let Jennifer in, but why us? And why show us the other rooms as well? Legally, they're not supposed to give out that information."

"I say it all must be tied together," Illya said. "Most likely, they received a telephone call from the Council ordering them to play along and tell us what we want to hear."

"Or it could be only some members of the Council involved," Napoleon reminded.

"Or someone else entirely," Ecks said as he came up from behind.

"There's nothin' to see here," Wye said in annoyance. "If there was, it was taken away long ago."

"Of course; they wouldn't leave any clues lying around," Napoleon said.

"If this was even Martin Jensen's room at all," Illya frowned. "I'm still not convinced he was ever here."

"We still need to talk to Marietta Crabtree in private," Ecks said.

"Yes, I'm planning to see to that when we go back to the community," Napoleon said.

"If they will even let us back in," Illya grunted in disgust.

"For now they have to," Napoleon answered. "If they force us out now, it will only look more suspicious."

"They might make up some new rule we've broken," Illya said.

"That honestly sounds pretty plausible by now," Wye said. "Let's all stay on guard."

xxxx

After leaving the hotel, the group spent a bit of time in town, talking to people in nearby restaurants and at the local cab company. But the restaurants weren't very helpful; no one remembered any of the missing people. And the cab driver who had supposedly driven Martin was off-duty, while the one who had driven Everett and Clarice was on his shift and unavailable to be questioned.

"That's all very convenient, isn't it," Napoleon mused as they walked away.

"A little too much so, if you want my honest opinion," Wye grunted.

"The Council—or whoever—certainly has a far-reaching arm," Illya scowled.

"There's nothing more we can do here," Ecks said in annoyance. "Let's go back to Peaceful Meadows and try talking to Marietta."

"Fine with me," Wye said. "Just don't go expectin' much from her."

"She seems honestly confused and upset each time we surprise her with a new revelation," Napoleon said, climbing into his car. "She could be weakening."

"Or she could decide that in the end, no matter what gobsmacks her, she's still on the Council and that's the most important thing," Wye retorted.

"Also very possible," Napoleon agreed.

xxxx

Marietta was home when they arrived back through the gate. Seeming to have been half-expecting them, she rushed to the front door and flung it open the instant they pulled up. "Well?" she called down the steps. "Did you find out anything?"

"Perhaps," Napoleon replied, vaguely.

"Now we would like to come in and talk with you," Illya said.

"With me? But I don't know anything more than what's already been said," Marietta objected.

"Do you know about that painting?" Napoleon returned as he headed up the driveway and the steps. "Are you Mary Apple?"

Marietta averted her gaze. "I know about the painting," she said, being vague now herself. She moved out of the way, allowing the group to come onto the porch and into the house. She shut the door after them.

"Why does the Council use that painting in every house?" Illya asked.

"They like it, I guess," she shrugged. "Something about it appealed to them."

"And you don't know what that is?" Ecks frowned.

"I never really have." Marietta looked at him for a moment and then turned away. "I have the feeling that they don't always tell me everything."

"Why not, Duckie?" Wye asked, leaning on the back of the couch. "Don't they trust you? Seems funny they wouldn't, you being one of them and all."

Marietta frowned. "Sometimes Harvey seems so vague, even mysterious. There's other people who think he leaves them out of important decisions too."

"I see," Napoleon said. "But you know, you can be vague as well. You never did say if you painted the picture in all the houses."

Marietta wrung her hands, seeming to be debating with herself. At last she said, "No, I didn't. Mary Apple was my sister." She turned to face the stunned group. "She went missing years ago without a trace. When this community was first getting started, I was here and I saw that her painting was going up in every house. I thought that was strange and I wondered if the people running this community knew what happened to her. I still don't know the answer to that."

Not about to buy a hard-luck story so easily, Wye still looked suspicious. "So all of this 'loyalty to the Council' is just an act?" he said.

"No, not really," Marietta sighed. "I've really grown fond of Peaceful Meadows and the Council. I haven't found any indication that they know anything about my sister. They probably don't. They probably just saw her painting in some museum somewhere, liked it, and bought it on a whim."

"And had someone make many copies of it," Napoleon remarked.

"If Mary Apple is your sister, why are you using such a similar name?" Illya wanted to know. "Is that on purpose?"

"Yes," Marietta nodded. "My real name is Rebecca. I thought if I introduced myself as Marietta Crabtree, maybe someone who knew something about my sister would connect the dots and come to me."

"A daring and dangerous plan," Napoleon noted.

Jennifer looked at Marietta with new respect. She clearly _did_ believe the tale. "I'm so sorry about your sister," she said quietly. "But if you've decided that no one here knows about her, why stay? It's time to move on and look somewhere else."

"I don't know where to look," Marietta sighed. "I asked Harvey once where he bought the painting, but he was vague and said something about finding it at some art exhibit in Greenwich Village. I couldn't really imagine Mary being there, but I went and looked more than once, and even brought a copy of the painting to show the people there. If anyone remembered it, they didn't volunteer any information."

"And it's possible they remembered," Illya said. "They're a very close-lipped community."

"Still, I think they would help a worried sister, if they came to believe the story was real and not made-up," Napoleon said.

Marietta looked even more worried at that. "So then if Harvey was lying about where he got the painting, maybe he really does know something!" she exclaimed.

"Have you ever even asked him about your sister?" Jennifer asked, folding her arms.

"Yes, but he showed no sign of recognition, except when I said she'd painted that picture." Marietta sighed. "I believed him."

"Maybe you shouldn't have," Jennifer said passionately. "Maybe it's time you have it out with him and demand the truth."

"I wouldn't say demandin' the truth has got us much of anywhere," Wye grunted. "We're still just as stuck on the Martin Jensen case as we were before you showed up."

"Do you have a picture of your sister?" Napoleon asked Marietta, suddenly curious.

Marietta blinked, surprised by the query. "Why, yes," she admitted. "I have a small one in my wallet." She crossed the room to a small telephone desk and opened her purse. Taking out her wallet, she opened it and flipped to a particular picture of two young women.

Napoleon nodded, eyeing the shot of the sisters appreciatively. Shooting him a look, Illya glanced at it as well.

"You still look like yourself, but it's hard to say whether your sister still resembles this photograph," Illya said. "You don't have anything more recent?"

Marietta shook her head. "She disappeared shortly after this was taken."

Ecks also came over, Wye in tow, both curious about the mysterious sister. But as soon as Ecks saw the picture, he stiffened.

"What is it?" Illya frowned, regarding him in bewilderment.

Wye answered for him. "Cor blimey," he exclaimed in disbelief. "The sister is Agent Cue!"


	10. Investigation, B-Grade Horror Style

**Chapter Ten**

Napoleon and Illya were in almost as much disbelief as Ecks and Wye over this news.

"Agent Cue?!" Illya cried.

Marietta nodded. "That's right." Her expression and voice darkened. "My sister and I . . . didn't always get along or agree."

"So she ran off to join an extremist group?" Illya frowned.

"A _what?!_ " Jennifer wailed. "Ecks, Wye, _Cue?_ You were all part of the same thing? I have extremists working for me?!"

" _Former_ extremists, mind," Wye said hastily. "And we were mostly in on the spyin' end of things, not the politics."

Jennifer clenched her fists and huffed. "But still!"

Illya had to admit to a bit of dark amusement at Ecks and Wye's sudden problem with their client. "She's not going to accept your excuses," he said.

"I'm not excusin' us," Wye retorted. "I'm explaining a fact!"

Marietta barely seemed to be paying attention to the exchanges. Instead she gave a heavy sigh. "The family didn't know exactly what it was for the longest time," she said. "I finally started putting the pieces together from her letters. Sometimes she even mentioned the two of you." She looked to Ecks and Wye. "She liked you both. She even sent a picture of you with her once."

"But if this photograph here was the last one taken with her . . ." Wye said in realization.

"It was taken on a trip home," Marietta explained. "She dropped out of sight when she went back to London. I tried to write, I tried to call . . . nothing." She clenched her fists. "And that was long before the organization broke up." She looked to Ecks and Wye with urgency. "Do you know what happened to her?!"

Ecks looked down uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, we don't," he said.

"We weren't around for a lot of the breaking up," Wye said. "We were . . . ahem . . . out of commission, you might say."

"Laying low playing dead, and not always just _playing_ ," Ecks grunted.

"But like I said, she stopped talking to us long _before_ the breaking up!" Marietta insisted. "What was the last you knew of her?"

"She was often out of the country on assignments," Wye said. "So were we. Our paths didn't really cross a whole lot. The last time I recollect seeing her was after she got back from visiting America on a vacation. She was headin' off to Paris on a new mission."

Ecks nodded. "I don't remember hearing much, if anything, about her after that. They transferred her to Paris permanently."

Napoleon looked back and forth between them and then to Marietta. "If you saw a picture of them years earlier, you must have recognized them when they came here," he realized.

"I did," Marietta admitted. "I'd dug into every bit of information I could find about that organization, which of course wasn't much, but I finally gleaned enough to know that it was kaput and most of the members were either in prison or dead. I knew Mary wasn't in prison, so I was terrified that meant . . ." She trailed off. "Then I came here and found that painting and hoped I had a new lead. And then _you two_ came here." She looked to Ecks and Wye.

"So why didn't you come to us immediately and tell us what you knew?" Ecks frowned.

"I thought I should observe you for a while first and see what you seemed to be doing here," Marietta said. "Maybe you were just hiding out, but I wasn't sure I believed that.

"Soon I knew that you were investigating the disappearances. I was worried that you'd both get bounced out of here before I had a chance to talk to you, so I . . ."

"Sent us that warning note," Wye finished, folding his arms. "And slipped in that little line about 'P's and Q's' to hopefully get us thinking."

"That's right," Marietta nodded. "I was hoping you'd come to me. I thought that since Mary showed me your pictures, maybe she'd showed you mine and you'd recognize me."

"She was quite secretive about her own life, I'm afraid," Wye said. "She never showed us pictures of her family. Actually, I'm surprised she showed you _our_ pictures."

Ecks nodded. "She was nice enough, but we never thought she liked us enough to talk about us with her family."

"Well, she did," Marietta said. "Honestly, during that last vacation, she acted like she regretted what she'd gotten into. She said she wished she could do it all over and not join, but that wasn't an option for her and she had no way out. Then she showed me your pictures and said that she felt that someday, both of you might succeed in finding an out where she couldn't."

"I'd scarcely say that gettin' ourselves gutted and shot was 'finding an out' the way we would've chose," Wye said awkwardly.

"But in the end, you were free of them," Marietta said. "And now that they're all broken up, you can live normally again."

"Or as normally as two ex-spies can live," Wye said. "It ain't easy findin' work, I'll tell you that."

"In any case, intended or not, you're certainly luckier than most of your fellow agents," Illya said. "There aren't even any warrants out on either of you, since you were both thought dead."

"Much obliged, Mr. Kuryakin," Wye said with a mock bow. "I trust there won't be any new warrants put out on us?"

"Not unless you do something newly evil or illegal," Illya retorted. "Technically, we _could_ report you for operating as private investigators without a license."

"But will you?" Ecks shot back. "That's the question."

"We'll wait and see how this case plays out before we make a decision," Illya said coolly.

Napoleon looked to Marietta. "Unfortunately, there _is_ a warrant out on your sister, since she's only among the missing and not the dead."

Marietta sighed. "I know. And maybe she's in hiding because of that. I like to think so. But she'd be better off in prison than dead. I just want to know where she is and if she's alright." She clenched her fists. "I really do think she was coming to regret the path she'd chosen."

"Perhaps if you ever do find her, you could convince her to turn over everything she knows about the organization," Napoleon suggested. "There's still a great many secrets we don't know that she might. Mr. Waverly might be able to pull some strings to get her sentence reduced if she'd talk."

That brought a smile. "I'll be sure to tell her that, if I ever find her," Marietta declared.

"Meanwhile, we really must get back to the mystery here," Illya said. "We need to find out who here, if anyone, is involved with the disappearances from Peaceful Meadows."

Marietta nodded. "And I want to help you," she vowed. "I guess there could be information in Harvey's house. I can't help thinking that he must be involved somehow, because I can't believe it could be going on under his nose without him knowing about it!"

"Is Harvey at home right now?" Napoleon asked.

Marietta glanced at the clock. "No," she replied. "He's about to have a secret Council meeting at the school. I'll need to be there." She hesitated. "But I can give you my master key to his house. It has his address engraved on it, too."

"And just what guarantee do we have that we wouldn't be walkin' into a trap?" Wye retorted.

"None, really," Marietta replied. "You'll just have to trust me if you want to get in."

"Which we'd have to do either way, even if you came with us," Napoleon said. "Alright, we'll take that master key and look around. But do you know what this secret Council meeting is about?"

"It might be about Ms. Jensen here, or about all of you," Marietta said uneasily. "He said he'd fill everyone in on the details when we got there." She took the key out of her purse, handing it to Napoleon. "If the meeting breaks up and Harvey heads home, I'll try to call and warn you. I'll ring three times as a signal."

"Thank you," Napoleon nodded. "Hopefully we'll find something."

"And hopefully no one will see us going into his house," Illya said flatly.

"Well . . ." Marietta hesitated. "All the Council members live on this street and our houses are connected via the secret rooms. There's underground tunnels branching out to every house on the block. There's arrows pointing the way to each house."

"That's convenient," Napoleon said.

Marietta nodded. "It would probably be better for you to get to Harvey's house that way, just to make sure none of the Council members see you as they leave for the meeting."

"Except for the fact that our motorcars are right there out front, plain as day," Wye retorted. "If you leave and the other Council members see the cars, they'll know something's up."

"That's true," Marietta realized. "Maybe you'd better just leave now, and drive back once the meeting starts in ten minutes. You can use the master key to park in my garage, then take the secret tunnel to Harvey's house. I'll give you directions on the codes to open the tunnels once you're in the secret room."

"We'll try it," Napoleon said. "Thank you again."

She gave a weak smile. "I just hope it works."

"So do we," Napoleon answered.

xxxx

The group was troubled as they left Marietta's house and started to drive casually around the community. Any people who were home on the other blocks gave them either suspicious or wary looks and did not try to make conversation. By the time they came back around to the Council block and Marietta's house, Illya was thoroughly unsettled.

"I do not like this, Napoleon," he said. "Even if Marietta lets us know as soon as the meeting ends, we might not get out of here before some of the other Council members arrive. If anyone sees us leave the garage, we will instantly be in trouble."

"I know," Napoleon said as they pulled up to said garage. "But under the circumstances, it's our best chance of finding out the truth." He got out of the car, unlocked the garage, and drove inside. Jennifer's car pulled up alongside.

"I've come this far to learn the truth," she said. "I don't care what dangers I get into if I can find out once and for all about Martin."

"You're probably gettin' us all into trouble, Lovey," Wye retorted. "You showin' up has really made a lot of waves."

"It also caused you to make a truce," Jennifer replied, "and it sounds like you weren't having much luck until you did that."

Wye shrugged. "Can't argue with that."

They entered the house through the garage entrance and made their way to the bedroom. Within minutes, they had accessed the secret room. Marietta's code, which consisted of rapping in certain places and ways on the wall, worked like a charm and the tunnel, a trapdoor in the floor, soon creaked open.

"I feel as though we are in a B-grade horror film," Illya grumbled as they headed down the steps and into the tunnels.

"Hopefully we'll have a better outcome than many of the people in those," Napoleon said.

Following the arrows led them to Harvey's house before long. As they came out of the tunnel and used another code to get the wall to open even though the bed wasn't in the secret room, they found themselves standing in a bedroom that looked identical to all the others they'd seen.

"So even the ringleader doesn't believe in varying the layout," Napoleon mused.

"He'd probably keep important information in here instead of in the living room," Ecks said.

Jennifer was already marching to the bureau and pulling all the drawers out. "There's just clothes in here," she said in annoyance.

Napoleon decided to tackle the closet. Illya went to the bookcase, where Ecks swiftly joined him. Wye wandered out of the room in search of the study.

"Nothing," Illya said after several moments of looking. "We need to branch out and try more places. We surely don't have much time."

"Maybe he keeps confidential things through another secret panel," Ecks said. "He could have built his house different from all the others."

"I suppose it depends on how fully he believes his own ideology," Napoleon said.

"But such a secret panel could be anywhere!" Illya said in frustration. He knocked on the walls without success. Then, pausing to think about things, he suddenly stepped back with a new light in his eyes. "I have it!"

Everyone looked to him.

"Eh?" Wye raised an eyebrow as he came back into the room. "Well, where is it then?"

"Let's suppose he _does_ believe in his own ideology," Illya said, his enthusiasm mounting as he crossed to the bed. "Then, there would only be two secret places he could hide something—in the secret room behind the wall, or in the bed." He grabbed the headboard. "Someone hold the panel open!"

Ecks was the closest, and when Illya pulled on the headboard, he grabbed the wall and planted his feet, trying to force it to stay open without swirling the bed away. Napoleon came to help him.

"Wouldn't he run the risk of letting everyone see the secret files?" Napoleon wondered. "Sometimes they would be pushing down the headboard to enter the room from this side."

"They would just be pushing down the headboard and hurrying into the darkened secret room," Illya replied. "And the headboard immediately flips back up; there is no chance to feel beneath it." He continued to force it to stay down while he groped through the edge of the mattress right beside it. When he pulled out several folders with a triumphant cry, Napoleon and Ecks pushed the wall back into place and the headboard snapped upright.

The group crowded around. "What are those?" Jennifer demanded. "Is there anything about Martin?"

Illya frowned, studying the first sheet of paper inside the first folder. "There's a list of certain people, I assume the ones that were told to move on," he said. "Your brother is on the list, and even Everett and Clarice. Their names seem to have been hastily scrawled in." He squinted at the page. "And there's this strange code on the side, next to each name. It may take me a while to decipher it."

"It could be the dates they went missing," Wye offered.

"Or it could have something to do with where they are now," Illya replied.

"Or it could be both, or neither."

Again everyone jumped an alarmed mile. Harvey was strolling into the room, calm, cool, and collected, with what looked like a grenade in his hand.

"Well, it was nice of Marietta to call and warn us," Napoleon remarked.

"Oh, don't blame her," Harvey replied. "The 'meeting' was set up as a trap for her, and you. And all of you fell right into it."

"So now I suppose we will all be told to 'move on'?" Illya said icily.

"Something like that." Harvey's eyes darkened. "There's returns from the dead all over the place, aren't there." He looked right at Ecks and Wye as he spoke.

"What are you talking about?" Ecks retorted defensively, stepping in front of Wye, who laid a hand on his shoulder.

Harvey sneered at them. When he spoke next, his voice had a definite British accent. "I couldn't have been more surprised when you two showed up wanting to move in," he said. "I'd got the word you were both dead."

Wye swore under his breath. "I heard that about _you,_ Mr. Pea, long before I even took Ecks under my wing!"

Illya quietly sidled up to Napoleon. "I have the feeling we've wandered right into some sort of extremist in-fighting," he said low.

"I have that same feeling," Napoleon nodded.

"Oh, you're part of this too," Harvey snapped at them. To Ecks and Wye, he continued, "I wasn't killed on that mission, but I was badly burned. Had to have a complete face job. Then the organization decided I would go deep undercover and weed out those who weren't loyal to us. Somehow I missed you two and Zed. When the organization started breaking up, I got away. And now circumstances have brought us back together again. I'm going to see that you two U.N.C.L.E. agents pay for planting your mole to destroy our sacred organization. And I'm going to see that you two wretched traitors pay for trying to take it over."

"And what about me?" Jennifer shot back.

"You're just in the way," Harvey retorted. "You'll have to go too."

He threw the grenade and covered his nose and mouth.

Jennifer started to cough. "What is this?" she gasped, her eyes watering.

"Gas," Illya choked out.

There was no way to avoid the substance filling up the room. As Harvey closed the door to further protect himself, the group slumped to the floor in unconsciousness.


	11. The Battle of Peaceful Meadows

**Chapter Eleven**

Napoleon groaned softly as he regained his senses. He had endured so many headaches through the years because of being either gassed or hit over the head that he had lost count of the number—although he had the feeling that Illya's number was even higher.

"Napoleon?" Illya mumbled next to him.

"Hmm?" Napoleon tried to open his eyes, but everything seemed to be dark. He closed and opened them again and discovered the same thing.

"Are you alright?"

"I've had better days," Napoleon replied. "But I've had worse ones, too. How about you?"

"This definitely won't be one of my favorite memories," Illya said flatly.

"I don't blame you in the least," said Napoleon. He searched through his pocket for a penlight. Finding one, he clicked it on.

They seemed to be in a wooden room of small size, yet large enough for a balcony above. Ecks, Wye, and Jennifer were all on the floor nearby, slowly starting to stir as they awakened. Ecks, who seemed to revive quicker, slid over to Wye and shook him on the shoulder in concern. "Wye?"

"Someone tell me I was just dreamin' that Mr. Pea is alive and took all of us prisoner," Wye grumbled. He was facing away from Ecks, but slowly rolled onto his back to look up at the younger man.

"Unfortunately, to my memory it happened," Napoleon answered.

"So where is he now?" Illya wondered, pulling himself to his knees.

"Right here, Mr. U.N.C.L.E. agent." Harvey stepped into the glow from Napoleon's penlight, accompanied by about half of the other Council members. Two of them were holding a struggling Marietta.

"Let me go!" she fumed, kicking one of them on the shin. He grunted in pain, but his grip did not loosen.

"How is it, anyway, that you know we're with U.N.C.L.E.?" Napoleon asked, even as his eyes narrowed over the treatment of Marietta.

"After the organization broke up, your names and photographs were included among the information I managed to receive from one of the other agents who broke away," Harvey said.

"So you knew all along who we were, just as you did Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye," Illya frowned.

"That's right. I just wanted to give you enough rope to hang yourselves." Harvey reached above him, pulling on a string to turn on the overhanging light.

Napoleon watched him. "If that's the rope, I doubt it will hold us all," he quipped.

"Funny." Harvey snapped his fingers and the Council members threw Marietta at a stunned Jennifer. "You're all going to die by firing squad. Of course, then we will report to the residents that you were all asked to move on."

"Don't you think they'll be a little suspicious when one of your own Council members disappears?" Illya retorted.

"If anything, it should make them more terrified than ever," Harvey gloated. "No one is above the rules at Peaceful Meadows, not even the Council themselves."

Wye sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "So what was the point of this place anyway, Pea?" he grumped. "What would an ex-member of the old organization want with a gated community?"

"A gated community built on fear, _Wye,_ " Harvey retorted, his tone filled with mocking as he spat the other man's codename. "I'm finding everyone who can follow orders. Eventually I'm going to start building the ranks of our organization again, this time on American soil."

"And you're going to herd people into communities like this one," Napoleon deduced.

"Where everyone who won't obey will be killed off and not just told to 'move on'," Harvey sneered.

Jennifer screamed in outrage. "Is my brother dead then?!"

"You'll find out soon." Harvey nodded to the other Council members, who spread out and pointed their guns at the small group. "Stand up, unless you want to die on the ground."

"What sort of weapons are these?" Illya demanded as he rose. His mind was working, wondering how many of his secret gadgets had been left alone. He already knew his gun was gone, but perhaps these people didn't know everything U.N.C.L.E. agents carried with them.

Wye, however, tensed. "I can answer that," he said. "It looks like a prototype that our organization was developing shortly before you brought in that ringer to play Raymond."

Harvey gave a sharp nod. "You are right," he said with mock solemnity. Then he smirked. "These guns are special. They don't fire bullets and are quite silent and clean, but they kill all the same."

"And what _do_ they fire?" Napoleon asked.

"A highly lethal beam of energy that stops the heart. Our scientists were at work on them for years. When I got away, I took the plans with me and had them perfected at last." Harvey smiled.

"You'll never get away with this!" Jennifer snarled. "Maybe you can say that everyone else was told to move on, but I was never a resident here. And I made sure to tell someone on the outside where I was going, just in case I didn't come back. They'll come looking for me, and they'll bring the authorities!"

"U.N.C.L.E. will come looking too," Napoleon said. "Once we don't report in, Mr. Waverly will know something's wrong."

"He won't listen to a flimsy excuse about us being told to move on," Illya agreed in disgust.

"They'll find only an empty community," Harvey replied. "Tonight we'll weed out whoever will remain loyal to us and move to another piece of property I own. Now, I think this conversation has gone on long enough." He raised his hand. "I could get rid of you one by one, but that would be too time-consuming and allow for too much probability that some of you would overpower us, so you're all going together. Do you like that?"

"I'd like it better if we weren't going at all," Napoleon said. He locked eyes with Illya, who sent him the silent message that he had found something still on his person to use.

"It's non-negotiable at this point." Harvey looked to Ecks and Wye with a sneer. "I'll take particular pleasure in eliminating the two of you. Filthy traitors! I only wish Zed were still alive so I could get rid of him as well."

"You know what I think?" Wye shot back. He was clearly stalling for time; he had his hands behind his back while Ecks casually ran his hands over his trenchcoat.

"I don't especially care _what_ you think," Harvey said boredly.

Wye sneered at him. "I say this is all about guilt for you."

" _Guilt?!"_ Harvey roared.

"Yeah. You had a mission to find all the traitors and you missed us, right under your nose. That's got to smart."

"And to add insult to injury, you thought we were both dead and here we came waltzing back into your life," Ecks grinned. He tried to casually slip something into Wye's hands. Wye closed one hand around it, but Harvey still caught the movement.

"Hey, what are you two doing there?!" he snapped.

"We're holdin' hands," Wye quipped. "We've known each other a long time; probably longer than even Solo and Kuryakin here. So we're sayin' goodbye."

Napoleon had to be slightly amused at Wye's spunk and quick wit.

"Part of me really wishes I could believe you," Harvey retorted. "I'll see you all in Hell!"

Without warning the guns fired. Neither Harvey nor the Council wanted to give anyone a chance to retaliate.

But the distraction from Ecks and Wye had been enough. Illya leaped out of the way just in time, throwing a small smoke bomb in the Council's general direction. Napoleon and the rest dove away too, and Ecks and Wye each threw strange, mechanized discs at the nearest guns. They locked on and the weapons stopped mid-fire.

"Jamming devices," Wye smirked.

Illya had to regard him in approval. "Let's get out of here," he directed, while their enemies coughed and choked on the smoke.

That proved easier said than done. As they ran desperately for the door behind the Council, hoping to get past without being seen, the previously absent Council members rushed onto the balcony with more guns. At the same time, some of those on the ground floor charged into the smoke, hoping to make contact with any of the people they were trying to kill.

Napoleon managed to slip to the side and grab onto Marietta and Jennifer in all the commotion. "Do you know what's beyond this room?" he asked Marietta.

"Yes," she nodded. "We're in a storage room behind the front office."

"Good. You two get out of here and find a place to hide," Napoleon instructed. "We'll hold them off."

Jennifer's eyes flashed. "I've got a better idea," she said. "We're going to make the residents wise up to what's going on in this place. All of them banded together would be more than a match for this Council." She looked to Marietta. "Are you with me?"

Marietta nodded, her hesitancy now gone. "Let's do it!"

Before Napoleon could say a word, they vanished through the door.

And then someone was rushing at him through the smoke and he had no choice but to quickly karate-chop the assailant into unconsciousness.

The smoke was mostly cleared by now, and in the chaos of angry Council members fighting on the ground and angry Council members firing from above, there was little place to hide. Napoleon caught sight of Illya flipping someone over his shoulder and stealing his weapon at the same time. Liking that idea, Napoleon reached for the abandoned gun on the floor next to the stunned Councilman. It surely wouldn't be that hard to figure out how to use it.

It wasn't, and when one of them aimed at Napoleon, he aimed back and sent the gun spinning out of her hand.

Wye cackled. "Good show!" he congratulated. He already had one of the guns, and took aim at two snipers on the balcony. One fell over the side, crashing to the floor and taking out another one when he landed on top of the other.

Smirking, Ecks fired at another. "I prefer a knife," he said, "but I'll fight with what I have to."

Napoleon took a step back, surveying the scene. It was even more of a dangerous shootout than it might have been in other circumstances, since the room was quite bare and there was nothing to hide behind.

"For a storage room, they certainly pack light," he remarked, shooting another who was taking aim at him.

"Perhaps the boxes are invisible," Illya said sarcastically, "as the missing people seem to be."

The enemy numbers were swiftly dwindling. It was only when the shots stopped coming and the group looked at the people strewn around them that they suddenly realized Harvey was absent.

"Oh no," Illya said in frustration. "Has he gotten away, leaving his lackeys to do his dirty work and die for the cause?"

"I'm not sure I'd put anything past him," Wye growled, turning over another body with his shoe. "This one's not him either."

"Solo!"

Napoleon spun around in shock at the abrupt warning, just in time to see Ecks fire at one last shooter on the balcony—a shooter aimed at Napoleon. "Harvey," Napoleon realized.

As he fell, his eyes filled with hatred, Harvey still struggled to fire a final shot. It hit its mark—Ecks' eyes widened in pain as the white beam caught him in the chest. He collapsed to the floor, while Harvey tumbled over the balcony at the same time.

Wye wasn't having any of it. He ran over, falling to his knees next to the lifeless form. "Ecks! Ecks, you have to get up. Do you hear me?! You have to wake up!" He turned Ecks gently onto his back, pushing the edges of the coat aside and unbuttoning the shirt before leaning down and trying to find a heartbeat. Apparently finding nothing, Wye was still undeterred. "You are _not_ dying on me!" he cried, immediately starting CPR.

Napoleon and Illya came over, stunned and somewhat disbelieving of what had just happened. "He saved my life," Napoleon said, badly shaken.

Illya nodded. "It could easily be you lying on the floor with me trying to revive you," he said, troubled. He walked over to the gun Ecks had used, picking it up. "I wonder . . ."

"What is it?" Napoleon asked in surprise.

"I don't know exactly how this gun works, but if the idea is that the beam is harsh enough and strong enough to stop the heart, I wonder if there's any chance that putting it in reverse could have the opposite effect," Illya said. He looked it over, trying to absorb everything about it that he could in a long, hard stare.

"You mean like jump-starter cables on a car battery?" Napoleon blinked. "It's risky."

"What more damage could it do to him than what it's already done?" Illya retorted. He sat down on the floor, looking for a way to open the gun up.

Wye was pausing in his frantic attempts to revive his friend in order to search for any hint of a pulse. Finding nothing, he looked over at Harvey's broken body and let loose with a stream of bitter, hateful curses and oaths.

"You'll see us in Hell, eh?" he snarled. "I don't know if that's where Ecks would go, but you must be there now, Pea." He looked at Ecks' ashen face. "And that's where you've put me." He went back to the CPR, still desperate to not give up.

Napoleon came and knelt beside them. "Let me try," he implored.

Wye jerked, giving him an unreadable look.

"He's dead because he saved me," Napoleon said. "I want to help in trying to bring him back."

Wye considered that and finally moved aside. "It might be better for someone younger to try for a while anyway," he said gruffly.

Napoleon nodded his thanks and took over. It was unlikely anything could really be done, he knew, but he wouldn't feel right not to at least try.

How strange, to be so worried about the life of a former enemy agent.

Then again, what about this entire situation _wasn't_ strange?

"I think I've got it!" Illya hurried over, gun in hand.

Again Wye looked up with a start. "Got what?" he demanded.

"I took the gun apart and rewired its inner workings," Illya told him. "I believe I may have put it in reverse."

" _May_ have," Wye snorted. "None of us even know what the bloody thing is! What makes you think you know _how_ to set it in reverse, if that's even possible to begin with?"

"I know technology," Illya said. "He saved Napoleon; I owe him whatever I can do to save him. Please let me try. The worst that can happen is nothing."

"The worst that can happen is that you might damage his poor heart further," Wye growled. "Then we really couldn't get him back."

Napoleon stopped working and felt for a pulse. "If his heart's beating, it can't be detected without machines," he said gravely.

Finally Wye bowed his head in resignation. "Alright. Go on then; do your best. God knows I've tried what I can."

Hoping that it truly wasn't an impossible task, Illya bent over Ecks' body and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened except that Ecks jerked in pain, as though hit by electricity. Then he fell still, the movement involuntary.

Wye took the limp hand, feeling in desperation for a pulse. "Ecks?" he pleaded. "Oh come on, you're not going to leave me all alone, are you?"

He stiffened when the fingers moved, weakly gripping at his hand. "Wye?" Ecks turned, looking up at him in bewilderment. "What happened, Wye? Am I hurt?" He grimaced. "I remember something slamming into me. . . . Wait . . . I was shot, wasn't I?!" His eyes widened in shock and alarm. "I was _shot!_ "

"Now, hold on, Duck," Wye soothed. "Yeah, you were shot, but you're going to be alright. We'll all see to that. Kuryakin here, he saved your life."

"Kuryakin?" Ecks looked to Illya in disbelief.

"You saved Napoleon," Illya replied, straightening up. "I owed you for that."

Ecks stared at him, not even sure what to say or if he was really processing things right.

"Thank you," Wye said in all sincerity. "Ecks means the world to me. And he's got a lot of living to do yet."

"Yes," Ecks said, still a bit dazed. "Thank you . . . Kuryakin. I never would have thought . . ."

"That someone who tried to kill you in the past would save you now?" Illya interrupted, not wanting to make a big deal of it. "The circumstances are different now. You deserved another chance."

Napoleon sidled up to him. "You are a clever Russian," he said, both impressed and moved.

"It needed to be done," Illya said brusquely. "And I've been doing some thinking about that code I found. I believe I know where the missing people are."

Napoleon raised an amazed eyebrow. "Then lead on."


	12. The Liberation Committee

**Chapter Twelve**

Illya sat back on the storage room floor, pulling a small notepad out of his pocket. "This is what I remember about the code next to the name at the top of the page, which was someone I didn't recognize." He scrawled a series of numbers and letters.

Napoleon, Wye, and Ecks—who was still recovering and had his head on Wye's lap—studied it with him. "P233LRL?" Wye frowned. "It sounds like jibberish to me."

"What if the 'P' stood for Panel or Passageway?" Illya offered. "Then what would you make of the numbers?"

"233 is our house number," Ecks said.

"So the panel in our house? Then what?" Wye countered. "LRL . . . it sounds like directions on a map."

"It could be left, right, left," Napoleon agreed.

"We saw a maze of passageways on the Council members' street," Illya said. "What if the passageways for all the other houses don't only lead outside?"

"You mean that perhaps everything connects and there's a small-scale version of the Paris catacombs running under the entire community," Napoleon realized.

"Exactly," Illya nodded. "LRL could indeed be directions, perhaps to cells where specific people are being kept."

"Then let's start lookin', shall we?" Wye smirked. "Or you two can." He looked down at Ecks, who still seemed pale. "I'm not leavin' this one. I'm sure you're not ready to be up and around goin' through panels and tunnels, are you, Ecks?"

Ecks sighed, closing his eyes. "I'd like to say Yes, but realistically I know I'd slow everyone down. I'll be alright, though. You should help them, Wye; they'll round everyone up much faster."

"Nah, the girls'll help them," Wye answered. "If there's a motorcar around here, we can just go back to the house and you can rest in my room so as not to disturb the procession through your wall."

Ecks smirked slightly at that.

"We'll make sure you get back to the house," Napoleon promised. "You shouldn't have to rest on the floor." He paused. "And thank you for what you did. I didn't have the chance to tell you before."

Ecks looked somewhat embarrassed or awkward. "There wasn't any point in letting Pea kill you," he grunted.

Illya stood and went into the outer office. "There's a car out front," he said. "I should be able to hotwire it if the keys aren't here."

"A man of many talents, some dubious," Napoleon said, folding his arms as he leaned on the doorway for a moment.

"You're only jealous," Illya returned. He picked up a set of keys left on the desk. "I'll try these." He headed outside.

Napoleon turned back to the storage room, watching as Wye got up and tried to carefully help Ecks stand. "Do you need any help?" he asked.

"We've got it," Wye answered.

Ecks stumbled into him and reached up, steadying himself by gripping Wye's shoulder. Then, slowly, he began to button his shirt.

Napoleon caught a last glimpse of the scar left by the knife Illya had plunged into him in Hyde Park. It was a chilling injury, especially since Napoleon knew how deadly wounds in that area could be. And it was strange to think that tonight, Illya had saved Ecks' life instead.

Strange, but rather nice.

Illya came back to the office doorway just as Ecks finished and pulled his coat closer around him. "The keys work," he announced. "The car is up and running."

"Good," Napoleon nodded, pleased.

"And there's an interesting sight outside," Illya added. "In all the commotion, I didn't see where the girls went. Now I know."

"Jennifer said they were going to tell the residents what's really been going on here," Napoleon explained. He followed Illya outside, while Wye and Ecks trailed behind.

It was indeed interesting, to see a swarm of people converging on the office. Most were holding flashlights as well as assorted objects from their homes as weapons.

"Here they are!" Jennifer called. She hurried up to Napoleon. "What happened?"

"The Council is mostly dead," Napoleon reported, "save for Marietta here."

Marietta stared, suddenly aware of the burden now placed upon her. "Oh." A hand flew to the pearls at her neck. "I guess that means I'm now the leader here."

"If you want to bother keepin' the place open," Wye said, helping Ecks into the back of the car.

"What happened?" Jennifer frowned, her hands going to her hips. "Is he hurt?"

"He sure is, from savin' Solo," Wye said. "But he'll be alright with some good rest."

"I hope so," Jennifer said, but Wye really wasn't sure she was genuinely concerned.

"We're going to rescue the missing people," Illya said. "We believe they are trapped underneath the homes in tunnels like the ones on the Council members' street."

That brought indignant cries from some of the nearest residents. "We'll help too," one older man vowed.

"We don't know what else might be down there," Illya cautioned. "There could be guards."

"We'll take our chances," a woman replied, tossing a pink feather boa over her shoulder. "Once they hear the Council's dead, maybe they'll give up."

"That's possible too," Napoleon agreed. "We're going to start on our street, with our houses."

Illya climbed in on the driver's side and, once Napoleon was inside as well, they drove off. The residents began to spread out, running to every nearby street.

"This is the most activity we've seen all at once since we arrived," Illya noted, making sure to stay out of their way.

"It just goes to show that they only needed a spark to really get them going," Napoleon said. "Harvey and the Council were keeping them in line with fear."

"Or with the promise of order, for those who actually liked livin' here," Wye said.

"That too," Illya said.

Ecks stayed mostly silent, gazing out the window and resting against the backseat.

Wye turned to look at him after a moment. "Are you alright?" he asked low.

"Yes," Ecks insisted. "I'm still not fully up to par, but I will be."

"I hope so," Wye said. "Seein' you layin' apparently dead once was more than enough. Twice is more than anyone should have to bear. And I doubt we would have even got you back without Kuryakin rewiring the gun and shooting a different beam of energy at you."

"It's so strange to think of him being the one to save me," Ecks confessed. "Especially that he would even want to."

"Like he said, he owed you for savin' Solo," Wye replied. "And Solo was grateful, too. He tried to help me do CPR on you while Kuryakin was fiddlin' around with that gun. Makes sense to me, them being honorable U.N.C.L.E. agents and all."

"True." Ecks looked slightly uncomfortable. It was somewhat eerie to think of people working on his body while he was unaware of it, but it bothered him far more to think of Wye being put through the torment of fearing he was gone.

"Did you . . . uh . . . have any unusual sensations this time?" Wye wondered, lowering his voice even more. He knew Ecks wouldn't particularly want anyone other than him to know about his past near-death experience.

"Not this time," Ecks replied. "I didn't sense anything. As far as I know, it was more like I was asleep."

Wye sighed, heavily. "You were probably still clingin' to life then," he said, a touch of relief in his voice.

"I think so," Ecks agreed. "Unless I just don't remember this time." He frowned at that thought.

"Well, nevermind," Wye replied. "It really doesn't matter. The important thing is that you're alive and well."

Ecks had to agree.

Illya pulled up in front of their house. "We'll let you know if we find anyone," he said.

"You do that," Wye said. "But try not to make too much noise down there."

"Oh, I doubt you'll have to worry about that," Napoleon said. "Those tunnels must be soundproof. Otherwise, people would have been hearing cries for help."

"And who knows what else," Illya added.

"You make a good point," Wye conceded.

"That said, if we get into trouble, we may try to get your attention anyway," Illya said flatly.

The group left the car and headed up the walkway. Unlocking the door, Wye let them inside. They proceeded down the hall together before separating at the bedrooms.

"Have fun people-hunting," Ecks said.

"If we find them alive, it _will_ be fun," Napoleon returned.

He and Illya went into Ecks' room and were soon in the secret room and tapping out the code that opened the tunnel door. As they went down the steps, Illya reached up to turn on the overhanging bulb.

"It's a veritable maze down here," he said.

"The scenery is rather dull," Napoleon commented. "All the pathways look alike."

"Nevermind that," Illya retorted. "Just concentrate on the directions and hope that Mr. Wye had it right."

"Left, right, left," Napoleon intoned. "That shouldn't be too difficult."

It wasn't. And when they had made the final turn and started walking up another corridor, a voice soon called out to them. "Hey, you're not Harvey or any of those creeps."

"You're right," Napoleon said, relief washing over him that at least one person was still alive. He went over to stand in front of a cell door, looking in at a tough man with a crew cut. "We're the U.N.C.L.E."

"U.N.C.L.E.?" The stranger looked surprised. "This place actually got the attention of a big outfit like yours?"

"Naturally," said Illya. "When people start vanishing without a trace, the authorities _do_ take notice."

"Not to mention worried loved ones," Napoleon added. "Do you know if all the missing people are alive down here?"

"I think so," the man replied. "We were all being kept down here while the Council figured out what to do with us. They didn't want a lot of bodies buried in the place. And I guess they figured they couldn't just turn us loose, like I thought they were going to when I broke one of their stupid rules." He gripped the bars. "Do you have the keys?"

"We have something," Napoleon said. "You'd better stand away from the door." Removing the heel of his shoe, he took out a clay-like substance and pushed it into the lock. When Illya attached and lit the short fuse, the small explosion blew open the door.

"Hey, great!" the guy cheered. "Come on, let's go find everyone else! I'm Frank, by the way."

"Hello, Frank," Napoleon said.

Illya paused, not acknowledging the introduction. "Do you hear that?"

Napoleon and Frank paused too. "It sounds like a whole stampede of elephants," the stranger said in surprise.

Napoleon nodded. "Aha. Then the residents _did_ manage to find their way down here. They all decided to come look."

"Then everyone gets out even faster!" Frank smirked. "Oh, by the way, what happened to Harvey and them?"

"They're dead," Napoleon replied.

"Good riddance," was the grunted response.

"Just answer us one more thing," Illya said as they headed up the hall to the next cell. "Did everyone who was told to leave just follow orders and go outside once they were down here? Didn't anyone decide to explore instead?"

"Probably," Frank shrugged. "Me, I just wanted to get out as fast as I could. They're all a bunch of nuts! So I went to a hotel and thought I was home free, but then they were mixed up in the racket too. I got drugged and woke up here."

By now the other residents were filling the corridors, whooping and yelling and breaking down cell doors and locks with anything they could—shovels, rakes, even pliers. The prisoners spilled into the corridors, joining the celebration and helping to liberate others.

Napoleon and Illya turned around, taking in the entire scene. "This is not quite what I had in mind," Napoleon said.

"What did you have in mind?" Illya wondered.

"I was picturing weakened, starving people, certainly not spry and able to celebrate like this," Napoleon said. "This is much better."

Illya nodded. "I wonder if Martin Jensen has been found yet."

"I'm sure Jennifer is turning this place upside-down and inside-out to find him," Napoleon said.

"I wish her luck." Illya backed up against the wall to let a stream of people go past. "I wonder if she will pay Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye for their services if she is the one to actually find her brother."

Napoleon joined him. "Oh, I think they've earned their wages, after everything they've been through. And they did assist in figuring out the code that brought us down here."

"True," Illya conceded.

Jennifer practically glided past them then. "Oh! Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin!" she exclaimed in joy. "This is my brother Martin." She indicated a brown-haired man she had linked arms with.

"It's good to finally meet you, Mr. Jensen," Napoleon said, shaking his hand. "We've heard so much about you."

"Well, thank you," he said in amazement. "Say, what's going on around here anyway? It's like a complete revolution!"

"I'd say that's a perfectly accurate term for what's happening," Napoleon said.

"Where is Marietta?" Illya asked. "Wasn't she with you?" He looked to Jennifer, who blinked in surprise.

"Why, yes. She was here just a few minutes ago. I guess now I don't know where she went," Jennifer shrugged. "Maybe upstairs through one of these tunnels. I can hardly believe all of this is down here!"

"It's certainly a sight to see," Napoleon agreed. "But what makes you think Marietta went upstairs?"

Jennifer looked baffled at Napoleon's interest. "I don't know. Maybe it was something she said. Yes, that was it—she mentioned going to check on Ecks and Wye, since Ecks was hurt. Maybe she wants to talk to them more about her sister."

"Probably," Napoleon agreed. "And I suppose we should head upstairs too."

"If we can get to any stairs," Illya grunted. "Mr. Wye's crack about a procession through the bedroom wasn't incorrect."

"Only no one will be able to get out if we don't show them the code," Napoleon realized. "Let's get to that."


	13. One More Surprise

**Chapter Thirteen**

Part of being a good spy was in never letting down one's guard, even if things seemed quiet and peaceful. Mr. Wye had learned that very well through his many years in espionage work, and as Ecks lay on the bed and lightly dozed, Wye busied himself by peering out the window and coming to the open doorway, always checking to see if all was well.

Who knew what could come up through that secret passageway, really. It wouldn't necessarily be their allies or innocent residents. For all they knew, there were others loyal to Pea who could show up. He wasn't going to believe there weren't at least a few.

He was turning from the doorway again when something pressed into his neck. He froze, at the same time reaching for the beam gun he had kept when they had left the office. "What do you want, Lovey?"

The something wavered. "W-What? You already know who I am?"

Wye spun around, pressing his gun into Marietta's chest. "You're just an amateur at this. I saw you reflected in the mirror over there."

Marietta barely listened, instead staring at the weapon. "Won't you take that away?"

"Are you gonna take yours away?" Wye returned.

Marietta looked to the gun that she was tightly gripping in her right hand. Biting her lip, she didn't answer and didn't lower the gun.

"Something's been bothering me ever since we left the office," Wye said. "Wasn't it a little too much of a coincidence that your little note mentioned 'P's and Q's' and then Mr. Pea just so happens to be running the show? According to you, your note was only supposed to be about Ms. Cue."

Marietta stiffened, but still tried to clutch the gun in her hand. "Why can't it be a coincidence?" she retorted. "It's a common expression."

"It can be. Maybe it is. It's just that I'm really suspicious by nature, Duckie, and I don't think it is." Wye clicked off the safety. "I saw how these things worked tonight. I saw much better than I'd ever want to. Don't think I won't pull the trigger if you try to shoot."

"And I have a knife at your back," Ecks volunteered. Always ready for the possibility of danger, he had been awakened and silently slipped behind Marietta, drawing his umbrella knife.

Marietta finally let the gun fall from her fingers to clatter on the floor. "Oh, I don't know what I was trying to do," she wailed in despair. "You're right; it wasn't a coincidence. I really did believe in this place and the Council and everything. But then Harvey revealed to me after you two arrived that he was the missing Mr. Pea. He told me he knew where my sister was and he'd tell me everything if I'd help him trap you two and the U.N.C.L.E. agents. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't really think anyone was being killed, and when I weighed all of you against my sister, well . . ." She shrugged helplessly and shook her head.

"Of course we'd come up short," Wye finished.

"He didn't know about the note, though," Marietta said. "I really was trying to warn you about him when I wrote it, as well as to get you to start thinking about my sister and come to me. Deep down, I knew that it wasn't right to trap you for whatever reason."

"And he betrayed you anyway," Ecks frowned. "He was going to have you killed along with all of us."

"He said it was just to make it look convincing. He insisted no one was going to die. He said the guns just stunned people!" Marietta clenched her fist so tightly she started to draw blood. "But now he's dead and he can't tell me about my sister!"

"Look here." Wye kept the gun steady, still not sure if he would need it. "Those guns don't stun people. They kill! The whole ruddy Council is layin' dead because of them, and I almost lost Ecks to _Mr. Pea._ " He spat the codename in revulsion.

"I'm alive because Kuryakin rewired the gun to jumpstart my heart again," Ecks said.

"If Pea really knew anything about your sister, he wasn't gonna tell you," Wye insisted. "If he'd had his way, you'd be stretched out dead, just like he threatened to do!"

Marietta stared at him, not wanting to believe. But then her shoulders slumped and she looked down in resignation. "Then there never really was any hope," she said morosely. "And I helped on a plot that almost killed four innocent people."

"Well . . . aheh . . . I wouldn't say we're exactly 'innocent'," Wye said uncomfortably. "Guiltless in this particular matter, let's say."

"And there's always the chance that Harvey kept records," Napoleon said, suddenly appearing in the hallway outside the bedroom. "Maybe he really did know something about your sister, Marietta. If he did, we should be able to find out what."

Marietta looked to him with a start. "You'd really help me?" she exclaimed. "Didn't you hear what I was involved in?"

"At least you weren't trying to get us killed," Napoleon said. "Harvey tricked you like he tricked everyone who moved into Peaceful Meadows looking for peace and order."

"Those files are no longer under his mattress," Illya reported as he joined the group. "He might have disposed of them while we were unconscious from the gas. On the other hand, perhaps he didn't have much chance to get rid of them. If I find them and take a closer look, perhaps I will learn about your sister's whereabouts. Do not forget; she has a warrant out on her. U.N.C.L.E. wants her, just as you do."

"Yes, that's true," Marietta remembered.

"If Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye will be good enough to take their weapons away, can we trust that you won't try anymore to attack any of us?" Illya asked pointedly.

"I promise," Marietta declared. "Especially if it isn't really a stun gun."

"Did you really believe it was one when you came in here?" Wye said doubtfully. "You acted like you wanted revenge on us for killing Pea before he could tell you about Cue. Just stunning us wouldn't be much of a revenge."

"I really don't know what I wanted," Marietta said in despair. "I felt so upset and lost."

"I suppose that's believable enough," Napoleon said.

Wye and Ecks weren't as sure, but they did slowly withdraw their weapons. Illya bent to pick up Marietta's fallen gun.

"I still don't know that I trust you," Wye said. "You lied about a lot of things, including that story you fed us earlier about not knowing if anyone here knew about your sister. Who knows what you might do if we turn you loose."

"I say we tie you to a chair until reinforcements get here," Ecks added.

Marietta made a face. "I won't make any trouble," she protested. "I promised!"

Napoleon and Illya looked her up and down. "I don't believe she'll break her promise," Napoleon said. "What do you think?"

"I think that it's better not to take chances," Illya said. "Some people say one thing and do another, especially on this case. And we really don't have time to baby-sit."

Napoleon nodded. "Maybe that's for the best," he consented. Looking to Marietta, he said, "Under the circumstances, would you mind terribly if we do as Mr. Ecks suggests?"

"I don't like it, but I guess you're entitled to feel like you should," Marietta sighed. "Alright, I won't make a fuss about it."

"Good," said Illya. He led Marietta out of the room and into the study across the hall. After securely tying her to a chair in full-view of the bedroom, he came back.

"Is she comfortable?" Napoleon asked.

"As much so as she can be, under the circumstances," Illya replied. "We can watch her from in here."

"Convenient," Wye smirked.

Ecks slowly slipped the knife back into the umbrella. "Incidentally, why isn't there a procession coming up here?" he wondered.

"We directed them elsewhere," Napoleon explained. "In the tunnels, it tells on the walls which house numbers the panels are going to."

"Also convenient," said Wye. "And thank you for your consideration, by the way."

"It wasn't any problem to keep them away from both our houses," Illya grunted.

"And we thought it would be better for Mr. Ecks if there wasn't a great deal of unnecessary noise," Napoleon added.

"You were right," said Ecks, hanging the umbrella around the bedpost.

"So," Illya said, "let's search the house and see what we can find in the way of Mr. Pea's secret files. If not here, the files might have been left in the front office."

"And if we can't find them, there'll be a whole team of U.N.C.L.E. agents out here by morning," Napoleon said. "Just as soon as we contact Mr. Waverly and request them."

"What about whatever residents were loyal to the Council?" Wye said doubtfully. "I can't believe there weren't at least some."

"And if they'd agree with everything Pea was doing, they could still be trouble," Ecks added.

"I don't think there'd be enough of them to do any real damage at the moment," Napoleon said. "Especially if they know Mr. Pea and the other Council members are dead."

"You probably had to show everyone the code to get up from the tunnels, didn't you?" Wye frowned. "They could always choose to come here even after you redirected them. Just because we keep the doors locked, we might not be safe here. I don't trust that there won't be trouble. Look at us, after all—just a small group, but we offed the Council. There's probably more than four loyal to them."

"You do have a point," Napoleon admitted.

"I'm going to call Mr. Waverly right now," Illya said.

"On what?" Wye retorted. "Your communication devices were taken from you and I don't recollect you gettin' them back."

"They missed our back-ups," Illya replied. He pulled open the hem of his shirtsleeve and removed what looked like a strip of ribbon.

" _That's_ a communication device?" Ecks said in amazement.

"Your organization put bombs in strips; we put transmitters," Illya said flatly.

"Well," Wye shrugged, "whatever works."

xxxx

Mr. Waverly was both appalled by Illya's brief descriptions of the night's events and pleased that the case basically seemed to be solved. He promised to send a team out by morning, and he intended to be there with them. He was quite intrigued by the thought of the strange community and the tunnel system and wanted to see it all in person before it was all locked down. He also wanted to meet Ecks and Wye.

"Well," said Napoleon, from where he was sitting on the floor and leaning back against Wye's bed, "I suppose we should get some rest in preparation for taking Mr. Waverly on the grand tour in the morning."

"Someone should stand guard, just in case there's trouble," Illya said. "I will take the first shift."

"Are we all going to crowd in here?" Napoleon wondered. "We could always go next-door."

"There is safety in numbers," Illya replied. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Wye?"

"Oh, I suppose," Wye said easily, pushing himself away from the wall. "But that don't mean we all have to stay right in this room. You two could go out in the living room."

Napoleon nodded and started to push himself up. "A very good idea."

"Actually," Wye mused, "I don't think any one of us has had dinner yet."

"And there is no food in your house. I checked," Illya said flatly.

"So either we all starve for the night or someone goes to get somethin' from next-door," Wye said.

Lying on the bed once more, Ecks sighed and closed his eyes. "Nothing for me," he mumbled. "Maybe in the morning."

"I'm sure we could all go without dinner for one night," Napoleon said.

"I would rather not," Illya replied. "I'll be back in five minutes." He headed out of the room and towards the front door.

Sighing, Napoleon got up to follow him. "Just in case there's an ambush, I should really be along," he said.

"Knock yourselves out," Wye said with a wave of his hand.

"I'll pass, thank you," Napoleon deadpanned.

xxxx

To the agents' relief, no rebelliously angry Council supporters came at them with torches and pitchforks while they went to retrieve the food. To Napoleon's exasperation, however, Illya had a bit of a time deciding exactly what he wanted to take over and prepare. But eventually the matter was sorted out and they took a grocery bag of items and utensils to the other house.

"You're sure you won't have difficulty with this new recipe," Napoleon asked.

"That again?" Illya said in irritation. "Napoleon, you have consumed at least two meals created by me. Were either of them the least bit inedible?"

"No," Napoleon admitted slowly.

"Then stop worrying," Illya retorted.

"It's just that some people may be able to satisfactorily prepare one type of meal, but not another type," Napoleon said. "I think so far, you've only made meals with eggs."

"I've made other dishes," Illya insisted. "You just were not there to try them."

"And where was I?" Napoleon wanted to know.

"I hadn't met you yet," Illya answered haughtily.

xxxx

Napoleon was again relieved when Illya's newest culinary delight turned out to be exactly that. While they and Wye ate and Ecks rested, the group idly talked, sharing experiences and getting to know each other better—or at least as much so as opposing spies dared.

"Napoleon suggested to me that perhaps you were one of the children of the organization and never had anywhere else to go," Illya said to Ecks. "Is that true?"

"Yes," Ecks admitted. "I hated the place for never giving me a choice about leaving. When Zed decided he wanted to take it over, it wasn't a hard decision to go along with him and Wye."

"And what if you had opted not to join him?" Illya wondered. "Would Wye have gotten rid of you the way the both of you dispatched of the real Raymond?"

"Technically it was Zed who planted the bomb," Ecks said. "You probably remember he had a thing for bombs."

"I remember," Illya nodded.

"And no," Ecks said emphatically. "Wye wouldn't have done that."

Wye smiled a bit before sobering again. "After you gutted him, Kuryakin, I told Zed he was dead. I didn't want Zed knowing he was still alive and using him as a scapegoat. Zed was a brilliant man, but I knew enough to trust that he might very well do something like that if cornered."

Napoleon nodded. "That was quick thinking."

"I had plenty of time to think it out," Wye said. "I cared about Ecks more than anything else, including Zed's plan."

"From what we've heard, you were Ecks' trainer," Illya said.

"That's right. I met him before that, though, briefly." Wye quickly changed the subject. "And what about you two? Did you first meet in U.N.C.L.E.?"

"Yes. Mr. Waverly teamed us up on a mission that required someone of Russian origin," Illya said.

"It was . . . interesting, to say the least," Napoleon said.

"We did not get along at first," Illya said, focusing his attention on his plate.

"I wouldn't think so," Wye smirked. "I'll bet those early assignments were a piece of work."

"We were professionals then as we are now," Illya said. "We did what we were instructed to do, even when we didn't like it."

"We just made sure to separate the instant we no longer needed to be together," Napoleon added.

Ecks smirked too. "Apparently you still have some problems being together."

"Only when it comes to being domestic," Illya said flatly.

Napoleon looked across the hall at Marietta, still forlornly tied to the chair. "You know, I'm sure she's hungry too," he mused. "I think I'll fix her a plate."

"And spoon-feed her?" Illya supplied.

"Well, either that or untie her," Napoleon shrugged. "I'll see what seems advisable." He stood, excusing himself from the room.

"He'll spoon-feed her, I'll wager," Wye snarked.

"No contest there," Illya grunted.


	14. Epilogue: Fifty Million Frenchmen?

**Notes: Thank you so much for your amazing interest in this piece! I'm honored that so many have enjoyed it. I've had fun writing it. At the end of this story, I will include a slight plug for the next one. I can't say for sure that I'm starting a series, but at least there will be one more. Lucius Bowen, by the way, is a character from** _ **The Fugitive**_ **episode** _ **Masquerade**_ **, where he is called by the nickname Pinto. I've used him in some of my older** _ **U.N.C.L.E.**_ **pieces and on a whim, decided to bring him in here. His backstory is the same in this piece, but otherwise the old** _ **U.N.C.L.E.**_ **vignette series** _ **How Do You Like Them Apples?**_ **is unconnected here, since it tells a different version of the incident of Illya being stalked.**

 **Epilogue**

Peaceful Meadows looked somewhat strange in the early morning hours, when the U.N.C.L.E. team arrived. Mr. Waverly strolled out ahead, studying the wide-open gates, the vacant office, and the signs that many people had trouped up and down the street during the night, scattering paper and garbage to the wind.

"Pretty sloppy for a gated community," remarked Lucius Bowen, one of the agents who had come with the team.

"I would say that they have been celebrating their freedom from the leaders of this particular gated community," Mr. Waverly said.

"Heh." Lucius, a former hired gun whom Mr. Waverly had reluctantly recruited due to the valuable world-saving information he held, looped his thumbs through his belt and smirked. "And now where do you think Solo and Kuryakin have got themselves?"

"Mr. Kuryakin said that they would be staying with Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye for the night," Mr. Waverly replied. "They thought it would be safer if they remained together."

"Probably right, if there's any stragglers around who wouldn't like the mess they've made," Lucius said. "On the other hand, maybe they're out hunting."

"Let's check the house first," Mr. Waverly said. "Especially since I didn't receive any communication changing those plans."

They strolled through the streets, keeping alert for any sign of trouble. When they reached the correct street, Mr. Waverly and Lucius looked for 233. They soon spotted it, but not because of the house number.

"Good Heavens," Mr. Waverly exclaimed, staring at the front yard.

Lucius gave a low whistle. "I'm not sure whether to say that's creative or spooky."

"I would say rebellious," Mr. Waverly mused. "Perhaps it was their way of participating in the celebration." He walked up the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.

Napoleon soon opened it, standing with his suit coat off and his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows. "Oh . . . good morning, Mr. Waverly," he greeted, hurrying to button the shirt and tighten the tie. "Mr. Bowen." He nodded to Lucius, who gave him a mock salute in return.

"Mr. Solo." Mr. Waverly stepped into the entryway. "What is the meaning of that display out in front?"

"Oh. That." Napoleon pulled the door shut after Lucius entered. "Well, Sir, we were taking shifts throughout the night, staying on guard for trouble, and we decided to do something to pass the time. That was a quiet activity."

"Yes, I suppose that's one word for it.

"And how is Mr. Ecks?" Mr. Waverly asked. "Is he feeling any better today?"

"Much," Ecks grunted, shuffling to the doorway and blinking sleep out of his eyes. "Are you Mr. Waverly?"

"Yes." Mr. Waverly crossed the room and shook his hand. "So you are the elusive Mr. Ecks, the fellow who was stalking Mr. Kuryakin in New York."

"Only for a few weeks, and not for any ill purpose," Ecks hurried to say.

"I remember Mr. Kuryakin's report after he finally chose to tell me that he had encountered you," Mr. Waverly said. "So what is it that you and Mr. Wye do now, besides look for missing people?"

Ecks shot a questioning look at Napoleon, who just shrugged. "This and that," he said.

"They bill themselves as consultants and troubleshooters," Napoleon offered.

"I see," Mr. Waverly mused. "That could cover a wide range of activities."

"And it usually does," Illya said, coming into the room. "Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Mr. Kuryakin," Mr. Waverly returned.

Wye was right behind him. "Top of the morning to you, Sir," he said to Mr. Waverly.

Mr. Waverly nodded. "The same to you, Mr. Wye, I presume."

"That's right. It's been quite a night here, I'll tell you that." Wye glanced back towards the study.

Napoleon stepped forward. "We have a prisoner here who was a part of the schemes to cause trouble for us," he said. "Marietta Crabtree, or rather, Rebecca Apple."

Mr. Waverly's eyebrows shot up. "Really now."

Lucius stared too. "Her name is really _Apple_?"

"It seems to be," Napoleon said.

"She was in it because Mr. Pea promised to tell her about her sister," Illya said. "We've been all over the house looking for his files without success."

"And the lady's tied up in the study," Wye said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Well, we'll have to bring her along with us," Mr. Waverly said.

"Her part really wasn't very large," said Napoleon. "I doubt there's much more she can tell us."

"Probably not, but we have to be sure," Mr. Waverly said. "Mr. Bowen, will you take care of relieving the young lady of her bonds?"

"Sure thing." Lucius headed off down the hall.

"And we've got to see about getting paid," Wye said. "You haven't seen the Jensens out there, have you?"

"I'm afraid not," Mr. Waverly said.

"Come to think of it, this was Martin's house," Wye mused. "Maybe since we're occupying it, they went next-door."

"That's possible," Napoleon nodded.

"We'll go check." Wye headed for the door, Ecks trailing after him.

"We'll all check," Mr. Waverly said as Lucius came back holding Marietta by her upper arm.

"You had a peaceful night's rest, I trust," Napoleon said to her.

"It could have been a lot more peaceful if I hadn't been on that chair," Marietta retorted.

"Well," Napoleon said, "you know why we did it."

"Yes," Marietta said in resignation, "and I probably deserved it."

"Just be grateful you didn't get worse," Wye said. "You could have, you know."

She nodded. "You could have shot me or Mr. Ecks could have stabbed me."

"Not without provocation, you understand," Wye said.

"Hey," Lucius interrupted, peering into the kitchen and seeing the dishes strung everywhere, "you got any apples?"

"Don't tell me you ran out," Napoleon quipped.

"Nah, but if you got any, I want to make sure they don't go to waste," Lucius retorted.

Ecks gave him a weird look. "We'll get _all_ the food out of here," he said.

"And next-door as well, if there is any left," Illya added.

Napoleon went over to Ecks while Mr. Waverly began to question Marietta. "Mr. Bowen has a thing for apples," he said low. "We rarely see him without one."

Ecks smirked a bit. "Well, everyone needs a hobby." He paused. "Thank you for not revealing what Wye and I are really doing. We weren't sure what else to do with our lives."

"I think we can cut you some slack on that illegal private-eye business," Napoleon said. "Apparently Illya thinks so too. And I'm sure Mr. Waverly can read between the lines. As long as you don't go back to the spy business, it should be alright."

Ecks nodded. "I don't think any spy organization would take us anyway, not after we betrayed the place we were already working for."

"Probably not," Napoleon agreed.

"But thank you anyway," Ecks said, and Wye, who was coming over now, nodded in agreement.

"Just don't make us regret it," Illya grunted.

"We won't," Wye promised.

Mr. Waverly looked up from his conversation with Marietta. "We're going to go look for Mr. Pea's files now, as well as to find the Jensens."

"Good," said Napoleon.

"Hopefully we'll find them somewhere in the office," Mr. Waverly said. "We'll have to retrieve your communication devices as well, if he didn't destroy them."

"He'd probably hang on to them to see how they work," Wye said.

"Yes; that's what I assumed," Mr. Waverly said.

They stepped outside, passing the sea of colorful paper flamingos that decorated the front yard.

"I should take a picture of this," Napoleon remarked. "A memento of _The Peaceful Meadows Affair_."

"We'll do it on the way back," Illya said. "Not that you will need such a memento to remember this case."

"True, but I'd like it for my scrapbook anyway," Napoleon shrugged.

"You are sentimental," Illya grunted. "Why not take the entire flock?"

"Oh, but they look so nice here," Napoleon said. "Defying the rules for all to see."

Illya just rolled his eyes, but secretly he was amused. Really, he had probably crafted more of the things than any of the others. After this case, it felt good to defy rules that were ridiculous.

"And how about Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye?" Napoleon remarked, looking to where they had found Jennifer next-door and were apparently discussing prices with her. "I noticed you went along with their cover story."

"Not that Mr. Waverly was fooled," Illya said. "But there are so many worse things to worry about than those two practicing private investigating without a license. We should still keep an eye on them, but perhaps it isn't necessary to do so all the time."

"I agree," said Napoleon.

"And I am fairly certain our paths are going to cross again, even if not on purpose," Illya added.

"After all the times we've met so far, I imagine that's a fair assumption," Napoleon said.

"Mr. Solo! Mr. Kuryakin!"

They both looked up with a start at Mr. Waverly's sudden cry. He was talking to another agent who had arrived, a stack of folders clutched in his hand.

"You found them?" Napoleon exclaimed, hurrying over to look.

Illya was right with him. "Where?"

"In the second car Mr. Pea was keeping locked in his garage," Mr. Waverly explained. "It was in a secret compartment behind the front seat. There _is_ a mention of Ms. Cue in here. It gives her last known address and mentions Mr. Pea contacted her after the fall of their organization."

Marietta, still on the street and being restrained by Lucius, stared with wondering delight. "Then there really is still hope!" she breathed. "Where is she?"

Mr. Waverly rechecked the information. "It says here that she left Paris after the organization collapsed and moved to Los Angeles," he announced. Looking up, he said, "Mr. Solo? Mr. Kuryakin?"

"We'll take the case, Sir," Napoleon said. "Effective immediately?"

"Oh, I suppose you could have a bit of a break before you prepare to head down to Los Angeles," Mr. Waverly said. "If you agree to make the 8 o'clock flight."

"That's 8 _P.M._?" Napoleon said, wanting to make sure he understood.

"Naturally," Mr. Waverly replied. "Unless you think you could make the one at 8 A.M."

"I think we'll pass on that," Napoleon said quickly.

"I thought you might." Mr. Waverly looked over as Ecks and Wye came down from the porch and over to the group on the sidewalk. "I also thought perhaps you two gentlemen would like to go to Los Angeles with them to retrieve Ms. Cue. She liked you both; you might have a better chance of getting through to her than Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin here."

Ecks and Wye exchanged an amazed look. "Would we be gettin' paid for that service, if we agreed?" Wye asked.

"We would come to some type of arrangement," Mr. Waverly nodded. "We generally try to compensate those who assist our agents."

"We'll do it," Ecks blurted, and Wye was in full agreement.

"Then our paths will cross again much sooner than we even expected," said Napoleon.

"Typical," said Illya.

"Just one thing, though," Napoleon said. "No more throwing expensive equipment into garbage cans, alright?"

Ecks smirked at him. "Then no more planting any expensive equipment to spy on us."

Napoleon and Illya pretended to exchange a look. "It's a deal," Illya said.

"What's this about expensive equipment being thrown in garbage cans?" Mr. Waverly frowned.

"Oh, don't worry, Sir. We got it out," Napoleon hastened to say.

"And it still works," Illya added.

"I would hope so!" Mr. Waverly grumped. "We can't afford any other expenses on our budget, particularly with your penchant for ruining perfectly good suits on assignments, Mr. Solo."

Illya had to smirk in amusement. Both Ecks and Wye were staring at Napoleon in disbelief.

"Just how many suits do you ruin on a typical assignment?" Wye asked.

Napoleon cleared his throat in discomfort. "Ahem . . . I'd rather not talk about it."

"So would I," Mr. Waverly grunted. "Let's discuss your new assignment instead."

They headed up the street, looking to the houses as people began to emerge, well-rested and happy. The dark shadow of Peaceful Meadows had passed. If it would continue to exist once the investigation was over, it would be as a different type of gated community, one with rules put together and agreed on by all of the people. And if an infraction were broken, the people would work together to help the offender get their house back in order.

Meanwhile, the U.N.C.L.E. agents and their former enemies were pondering on what would await them in Los Angeles. _The Fifty Millionth Frenchman Affair_ would prove to be a most unexpected and twisted case.

But then again, most of their cases ended up that same way.


End file.
